FFTimeTravel
by funkmasterjo
Summary: Someone told me to update my description. So I wrote an update for it concerning how someone told me to update it.
1. Chapter 1

Premise: Unconscious time-travel because regular time travel would be too broken.

Pairings: Undecided.

Warnings: Don't really have this planned out. I'm leaving lemon, lime, harem, ect. open. Updates are sporadic in nature. You'd better put it on alert if you plan to follow.

* * *

><p>Chapter 1<p>

_I am standing atop a ruined airship. It has been wrecked here for a hundred years, in this sea of empty space._

_Every board creaks. It is rotten and ancient._

_I charge across it anyway, my footfalls thundering in the alien quiet of this strange land. I don't care if the wood gives way, for even if I fall…_

_…I have others to catch me._

_"Agrias, Sheild." Her designation. She would defend._

_"Of course." She replies curtly, and by her footfalls I hear that she is hanging back to defend our casters. I can't have anyone die here, most of all our casters. We are flesh and bone, and stand no chance without magic to elevate our abilities._

_"Orlandou, Sword." His designation. He would deal the majority of the damage. We would protect him at all costs, for a battle of attrition would not stand against this enemy._

_Sword was generally his role, ever since his joining. Sometimes I wondered if the aged man really was flesh and bone like us. And I knew how he could command devotion and loyalty from every corner of his country. He moved like a force of nature. He struck with precision that bordered on the divine. Watching him, I could only say that he was god-sent._

_But not by Ajora. By something better. More righteous._

_"Take the back." I instruct to Thunder God Cid, as I use my thumb to prep my katana for iado. "I'll take the front."_

_The monster roars. We… my troupe… my band of merry miscreants trying to change the world… we roar louder and fall on our enemy like a swarm._

* * *

><p>"Brother? Brother, wake up."<p>

"A…" I stare at the blurry form in the dark. It's nightfall. "Alma?"

"You were fussing again in your sleep, brother." She tells me, concerned. "Your nightmares have gotten more frequent of late."

"Sorry." I apologize. "I didn't mean to wake you. "

"You're a terrible bedmate." She slaps my arm playfully. "You kick."

"You snore." I shoot back. "And you squeeze me too tightly."

"I do not snore." Her eyes narrow, her teasing tone drops, and I know that if I wish to remain in her bed then I had better lie. "Ladies do not snore." She says seriously.

I flounder for a response. "You're right. It must have been… uh..."

"The wind?"

"The wind." I agree wholeheartedly.

My dreams scare me, being filled with as much steel as blood and as much blood as I can stand.

Alma calms me. Her warmth. Her gentle presence….

She is the opposite of blood and death.

If I had a mother, I would run to her. If my father were not such a busy important man that intruding on his infrequent rest periods were almost an act of treason in itself… I might have gone to him.

But neither were options.

In all the world, I only had Alma for comfort.

"Sorry for waking you." I tell her again, really remorseful. I hate to have her upset at me.

"It's just nerves, brother." She smiles up at me. "You have your first practice tomorrow with a real sword and it has been tormenting you for months. Once the morning is passed, your nights won't be so bad – you'll see."

Tomorrow. Yes. My eighth birthday, and when I graduate to holding a real sword.

I have been only briefly instructed until now, and only allowed to hold wood.

It is a big day, and even father will be there…

I'm so nervous… I have been nervous for months…

She's probably right that it's the cause.

"And you can have your bed all to yourself again." I surmise.

She corrects me immediately. "And I'll be climbing into _yours _because you will be a big strong, sword-trained boy, and able to protect me from the boogie-man and other disreputable individuals."

Ever since she started taking eloquence lessons, she's gotten even cuter and more difficult to argue with.

Which I suppose was the entire point.

* * *

><p>I draw the blade from its sheath with a tug, and I hear it hiss.<p>

_This is a proper sword. _

This weight. This balance. So this is a real sword.

"What do you think, squire?" My instructor is a heavy-set man with a hard expression glued to his balding head, and he questions me with all the gentleness of a pop-quiz.

"It's heavy." I answer honestly. It really is heavy.

_Both its weight in pounds, and its weight in lives. So heavy. So very heavy._

I shake my head. I won't be distracted by stray thoughts, much less such foreboding ones.

A collection of nobility ring the room. They're here for my birthday, of course. Presents, cake, and small talk.

But there are no games, and no music. I am the sole entertainment.

And I know my entire family watches me. We are a clan of warriors and I can't let them down.

I raise my short sword and my buckler, into my ready stance, and away battle.

Nothing happens.

_Attrition. Your sword is raised, yet his is down. He waits for the weight to weaken you. _

Yes. It makes sense. Then what do I…

But I already know the answer.

_Attack, or put your arms down._

I charge, raising my buckler and rallying my bravery. I am repelled with a kick. I couldn't see it coming, for my raised buckler obstructed my vision.

I manage to keep my feet under me, switching from a backpedalling motion to a series of back hops. I lose contact with the ground, but my legs stay under me. It oddly preserves my stance, in a way.

_Stay calm._

I couldn't let the weight of the day shake me.

I sheathed my sword.

"Why did you do that, lad? Tired of the sword already?" My instructor asks.

"It's heavy." Is my only explanation.

Everyone laughs.

My face burns, but… but it would be wrong to do anything but my best. And this is my best. My enemy's sword is like a wraith in his hand, but in mine it's just a slow piece of steel. I would have to use it as what it is – a slow piece of steel.

The instructor chuckles and swipes at me.

I lean to the side, under his arc, and catch his elbow with my unarmed hand. A tug forwards, with my weight behind it, breaks his stance and brings his face down to me.

With a reverse grip, I draw the live steel three quarters way out of my scabbard, to rest across the man's throat.

And all the audience falls silent.

_It's heavy. It's so heavy. Man was not made to carry something so heavy. Man was not made to hold death in his hands. It should only be drawn when it is needed, because it is so very heavy. And we must never hold it unless we are solemn and sincere. _

I hear clapping. Furious clapping. It breaks me from my thoughts.

Father?

"That was well said, son." He tells me over the sound of his own applause. "That was very well said!"

I said that aloud?

* * *

><p>"She likes you, you know." My sister tells me across the juice bowl.<p>

"What?" I ask.

"Miss Mary of Ingris. She likes you. Been batting her lashes at you all night."

"I thought she had something in her eye." I observe. "Are you sure –"

"Yes, stupid!" Alma chides. "We learnt it in class! It's how a lady is to communicate her interest."

"Well that just seems contrived."

"Oh posh. Go dance with her."

"I already danced with her."

"Then go dance with her _again_. You're such a boy."

"But I don't like dancing." I object. "And I haven't had any cake yet."

"She's the prettiest girl in the room, brother. At least the prettiest of our age. Go dance with her."

"No she's not. You are."

"What?" She blinks, then beams. "Oh no I'm not. I could never compare to Mary of Ingris. She was in a play."

"You are though." I answer honestly. "Can I just dance with you and then we go eat cake?"

"Oh stop." She insists even as she smiles. "I'm not that pretty."

… wait.

This is that thing where she wants me to act like an idiot before we can move on.

"You are." I answer. "You're as bright as the moon and as pretty as the stars."

"Oooh!" She holds her cheeks in her hands. "You jest, brother!"

She's eating this up.

…Sigh.

Seconds pass, and eventually I feel a kick to my shin under the serving table.

"Ow." I tell her.

"Hey," she deadpans, "keep going."

…Sigh.

I start rambling, and my sister invents new ways of fawning after each compliment. It really is incredible how many ways there are for her to pretend to be embarrassed.

No one could compare to how pretty you are. Words cannot describe it. You make the whole room wonderful and bright. Your dress does not do you justice.

Ect…

"Okay." She finally says, apparently having had her fill of fun. "Now go do that to Miss Mary of Ingris. Just like that."

…What.

"But I was just playing around."

"Yes, but go do it anyways." She insists. "Except, pretend to be sincere."

I don't understand.

"Go!" She pushes my shoulder. "Go! Shoo! She's still batting her eyelashes at you!"

…This birthday seems like a lot of work.

* * *

><p>"Father?" It's very difficult to get him when he's relatively unoccupied. Here, he's only standing and listening in to a group.<p>

"Yes, my boy?"

"I'm sorry Father. It's important and I can't talk to Alma about it." She'll goad me into doing something embarrassing. And then tease me.

For weeks.

"I'm listening."

"Wh-" My hand shoots in to my pocket, pulling out a cloth after checking that no one was looking, "Wh-What do I do with this?" I ask desperately.

"Is that a handkerchief with a kiss mark on it?" Father asks in disbelief, setting down his glass and leaning in to observe.

"It… It is." I nod nervously. "What do I do with it?"

Both of my father's hands fall on my shoulders, and he squeezes reassuringly as he fixes me with a hard stare. "My boy, we frame it. We frame it."

…What.

* * *

><p>AN: ...tada.

I always wanted to write an fft story. I did write something, it was something dear to me, but I didn't publish it and it fell victim to a laptop crash. This story is nothing like that one, but it's better I suppose.

I expect a readership of like 30 people, so I hope that 20% of you actually review if in recognition of nothing else but fft fanfic rarity these days.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Bah

* * *

><p>Chapter 2<p>

_The beast lurches and roars. It swings and snarls._

_And it bleeds._

_Oh, it bleeds._

_I have covered its front with lacerations, having brandished my katana repeatedly on its tough hide._

_Orlandou has carved deep swaths from its back._

_Rivers of black blood ooze from its body. I ignore the foul stench._

_Minerva, our support caster, falls. I signal to ignore her. It's cruel, but we're all wounded and stopping to help one fallen now would leave us with two in short order. Minerva will hang on until the battle is done. I know her fortitude well. She has been with me since our academy days. She was the only girl in our group to take the path of the chemist, accepting the disdained stereotype of women as support with her head held high._

_And it proved her as the toughest of us all._

_You've never seen a caster with more bravery than faith, until you've seen Minerva._

_We're almost through._

_I raise my forefinger on my left hand, signaling a big finish in one minute._

_We will end this with such a blitzing that it will not know its dying until its dead._

_I wish to avoid desperate unpleasantness from it._

_Other people would say I am being over-cautious. It is my nature though._

_I really do try to appeal to the goodness in people… I really do hope for the best… I especially did during my youth… but at my heart…_

_I'm a bit of a pessimist._

_I beg my katana to answer my cry once more. For me. For the world._

_Its soul sings in response. Thank you._

_The minute mark is reached. Bahamut roars in freedom and anger. Orlandou, Meilandoul, and Agrias cry out the names of their holy skills. I say nothing, but as it cracks in my grip my Muramasa sings the forlorn tune of what I know is its last song._

_And I consider charging straight into the dust and dragon breath before it even settles, but my legs are so heavy… I need a second to recover._

_Minerva. Someone 'Raise' Minerva. Agrias, use the monk's spiritual shout, then chakra for your wounds and tiredness._

_The dust and fire dims. These ruined airships don't burn well, though they're made of wood._

_The natural laws of this place…_

_And though gravely wounded, the creature has endured it all._

_…Damn shit._

_And, knowing its death approached, it performed… some desperate unpleasantness._

_I see the sacrifice. I see the creature fall._

_And the rise of a fell god._

_"Ajora…" I whisper, filled with dread._

_A fell god… in the body of my sister._

* * *

><p>I palm my face. Clammy. Cold.<p>

This is reality.

Oh god.

I…

Oh god.

Sister? She' s never been in my dreams before.

I have to see her.

I… how do I get to her?

We're in the Rhudia Monostary. It is a large and rather abandoned place, its empty halls a testament to days long gone, preserved as a landmark and because it is a sin to take down or fail to tend a house of god.

Alma has infrequent stays at monasteries. She, along with other noble girls, go there to learn 'moral correctness' from priests or teachers.

It's usually quite an inconvenience. I am 11 now, but my nightmares run me ragged and I have no one to talk to. There is still Delita and Tetra, but it isn't the same.

So when father judged my learning of the sword and philosophy to be advanced enough to begin learning the Holy Sword, I took the opportunity to accompany her. Holy Sword arts require a special type of baptism, and instruction under an advanced Holy Knight.

Father… had he been in better health, he would have thought me himself, as he taught my brothers.

But here I was in this enormous monastery. Only I, Alma, one other moral student, and our teachers were in residence.

And somehow I had expected to be able to see Alma, and even sleep with her here.

Apparently, moral correctness involved segregation of the sexes.

But I had to see her now.

Surely she is safe. I know that in my mind. But in my heart, I can't help these fears. It's true what Alma says.

I am filled with worries and fears I cannot brush aside because under it all, I'm a bit of a pessimist.

And even though there are only two adults to catch me, I hesitate to go to Alma because…

….Well, one of them can cut through rock with a Knightsword, and it is generally best not to make her upset.

_There is little moonlight tonight. Go as a ninja._

Where had that thought come from? The ninja was such an advanced class.

I couldn't possibly…

_Not everything is required. Just the stealth of a ninja. Remove your ring._

I take my ring off and pocket it. I had learned a bit of the theory behind the class during my private learnings. Perhaps I can…

_No metal. Metal reflects. Cover yourself in dark cloth. Let no part of your pale skin be shown. Wear many layers of socks to dampen your footfalls. Move quickly and steadily. The less time spent in a place, the less chance of discovery. _

This all seems very sensible. Is being a ninja very easy?

_Knock before entering her room, or she'll clock you with a lamp._

… Of course.

* * *

><p>The reception is not what I had envisioned.<p>

There is squealing, lights, and a distressed sister flying into my arms. "Oh brother! You came!"

My face is peppered in kisses of gratitude. Her roommate ducks behind me and squeals things.

The first thing into my mind is: I didn't bring my armor.

My teacher was always harping about armor.

I didn't bring my sword either.

Stealth is over. "Get behind me." I tell them in my no-nonsense big-brother voice. "Both of you get behind me and stay there."

_Make yourself the primary target. Be loud. Be obnoxious._

I fling the door opened with a slam and in as mighty a voice as I can I demand: "Who's there?"

Nothing.

_Pull back, but don't **turn** your back. Guard up. Prepare for ambush._

"Alma. How may? What class?" I grunt.

Thieves? Goblins? I didn't bring my sword.

"Rats!" She responds fearfully.

I stop. I stare at her. "Rats." I say

"One rat." She clarifies, peeking over my shoulder.

One rat. The threat just keeps getting smaller.

"A **big **one." One of the other girls tells me. Blond hair, blue eyes, slender build. Common traits of aristocracy, but in her they seem somehow… _more_ aristocratic. "**Enormous.**"

I sigh.

Okay. Okay.

"I'm going to go be a big brother now. I'll be right back." I promise, kissing Alma's forehead. "I'll go take care of it."

"Oh, be careful brother!"

It's just a rat.

I edge into the room quietly and check under the bed that the girls are pointing fearfully at.

A pair of large, animalistic eyes stare back.

A malevolent aura surrounds the creature, greater than anything I have ever felt. And, enshrouded by darkness as it is, I still somehow know… It is evil.

I can feel my expression slacken.

That's not a rat.

"Alma, that's not a rat!" I yell as I get out, slam the door, and brace my shoulder against it.

A solid 'thud' sound tells me that the beast is chagrining the door. The next sound is louder, the push stronger.

_It's growing in power and size. Maybe it was a rat, once. Now it is something foul and selfish._

_This must end quickly._

"Well what is it then?" She asks, panicking with me as the door buckles under the assault.

"Well it's not a rat, I can tell you that!" I argue. "Go. Get out of here!"

"I can't just leave! I left my ring in there!" Alma disagrees.

"And my broach," her friend says, "it's worth more than my life!"

"I… but…" I splutter. They're being ridiculous! "It's just jewelry! Get out of here!"

Alma stomped her foot, tears in her eyes. "It's our promise ring! We said we'd always be there for each other!"

My hanging mouth closes with a click.

Oh.

That ring.

_Designate._

What?

_DESIGNATE!_

"If you want to help, then get my sword!" I see their lack of comprehension. "Go!" I order.

They scamper off as if chastised.

Good.

Let's handle this before they get back.

I slip to the side, allowing the creature to charge through the door and crash into the opposite wall. Then, while it's disorientated, I leap onto its back and begin to punch it.

* * *

><p>I have fought goblins before. My father had called it good exposure. But they are nothing like this.<p>

This is a thing from my nightmares… a fell creature. I can feel it in my bones.

_Do not brawl. This is a position of no leverage. Your offense must be precise and powerful. A battle of attrition would not stand against this enemy._

I let the giant rat's bucking throw me. Because I control the timing, I am able to keep my feet under me.

_Do not fear the rat. The rat is not as dangerous or as evil as it seems…_

_Yet._

_Fear time. Time is your enemy._

I know that these thoughts are correct. My feet under me, my stance set in the monk's ready, I dash in to face off against time.

My enemy is a rat as large as a man, and low to the ground for it is on all fours. All together, a difficult foe to practice martial arts on.

But it has one weapon, being a rat. Its teeth. I had two hands, two feet, and my mind.

I would outpace it.

I open with a left straight from my high position. It does not flinch.

A lean left saves me from its overbite-equipped jaws, and I take the opportunity to bring my elbow down upon its overextended noggin.

_Don't stop_.

I follow up with a rain of blows, focusing on its head. I will pile damage there.

It groggily raises its head even through the attacks, to attempt another attack.

_Its intention is telegraphed. See it. Interrupt it. Hamedo._

I couldn't possibly.

But I already had, my elbow falling to the crown of its head and my knee simultaneously coming up into its jaw…

How can it stand? When will it die?

"Brother!"

Alma? So soon?

"Here!" She attempts to throw the scabbard to me.

It's too heavy, it falls short, clattering and sliding by my feet.

_You are too close to the enemy. This is super close-range. More distance is required for the sword. _

I back step, sliding the heel of my left foot to push my scabbard onto the toe of my right.

A child's flashy exercise, which I had learned from Delita when we were young and enchanted with dreams of a swordsman's glory.

Finally it would come to use.

With a kick I send my scabbard airborne and unsheathe with a strong flick of the wrist.

I am armed just in time to meet the rat.

Has it gotten bigger in those brief moments?

_Finish with one decisive strike. _

_Do not allow for any desperate unpleasantness._

Right.

I lean in and duck down as it launches upwards at me. Sliding underneath it's lunging form, I stab diagonally upwards through the soft of its jaw and into the soft matter of it's brain.

It is done.

_Twist._

_It might not have been enough. _

What?

_It bleeds black. It is a fell beast. Twist. Withdraw. Stab again. And again and again. Just to be safe._

_If it grows to true power, every good thing that you love will be in jeopardy._

What a foreboding thought.

But if it really would become a beast from my nightmares…

It twitches. It growls.

Even though I have three feet of steel buried in its cranium.

Okay.

"Alma?" I check if she is still within earshot, as my eyes stay focused on the monster in front of me.

"Y-Yes brother?"

"Look away."

I twist.

* * *

><p>"Alma?"<p>

"Y-Yes?"

"You can look now."

She does, and gasps. "Where did it go?"

"It vanished." I explain. "Into smoke."

Only the black blood remains.

And a small magical orb that I pocket.

"What's that?" Alma asks.

_Power. Great power… that corrupts greatly. Power that promises much, and it will fulfill that which it promises…_

_…except you won't be yourself when the promise is resolved. You will be dead, replaced by a… _

"I don't know." I answer. And I really don't. I have this instinctual idea… but I might be wrong.

"Was it… some kind… of summoned creature?"

_Not exactly._

"…Maybe." I accede. "But what's important is that it's gone."

"Oh." Alma gasps. "My ring!"

She and her friend enter their room in a fuss. I follow just in case.

As the precious items are retrieved I have to ask. "Did you meet my teacher on the way back, Sir Guinivere? Or the preist?"

"No." Alma shook her head. "Nothing like that. It was very quiet. Almost eerily so."

"Do you think that they're just asleep?" Alma's friend asked.

"Well it's a very secluded monastery." I say. "But teacher is a masterless Holy Knight. She's told me that she sleeps very lightly."

_Something has likely happened. The rat was probably part of something greater. _

"I've got to go investigate." I explain. "But I don't know where to leave you, that you'll be safe."

"Just take us with you." Alma suggests. Her friend nods.

"…okay. But stay close to each other and to me. And be ready to close your eyes."

* * *

><p>We make our way back to my room. I armor up and grab my shield. Then we clank down to see what has kept this place so silent…<p>

In the dark of the night, once familiar halls seemed filled with threats in every long shadow. Alma's a tough girl, perhaps because she grew up in a warrior family. She gets scared, but she is capable of putting that aside when needed, but her companion doesn't take it too well.

We reach the dining hall and I open the door a fraction, then slam it shut.

Ah.

"What is it?" an inquisitive Alma asks.

Death.

"Nothing." I answer.

It's fairly obvious that there was a struggle, though imagining a form of struggle that could have taken the life of my Holy Swordsmanship teacher…

…it's beyond me.

_Check for survivors. _

"Stay here." I instruct. "Scream if you need me."

I slip into the room, calling for survivors.

My instructor, bloodied and armored, coughs weakly where she is propped against the wall.

I see spider web cracks there above her, indicating that she had been flung to her position with much force.

"Sir Guinevere." I say as I kneel beside her. Her muscled form seems so weak now. Her beloved armor is ruined with a deep gash across its length. Her tomboyish short hair is matted to her face with blood from a small cut on her forehead. "Hold on."

I don't have any potions or ingredients with me.

_Cure won't do. Use the monk's sacred 'Shout'._

That thing. I had been musing on it but can I…

I… I have to try.

"Too late, squire." Miss Guinevere caughs. "Too late."

I try to recall what I knew of the technique and its application in saving the dying and the clinically dead.

_Ignore her. She's delirious. The wounded cannot truly mark their own condition. It is not accurate._

_Focus your energy. Focus your emotion. Let them boil and both escape you in a moment so blindingly condensed that you loose sight of yourself. _

_Let your heart bleed into your voice in a scream that calls to the soul, anchoring it._

_Let your life-force simultaneously bleed into the body. It will knit it's wound, so long as it hasn't been too grave or too long._

… I don't really know what I'm doing.

…It will never work. She is going to die.

"If… If I hadn't taken a stop for my armor…" I mutter aloud.

"Blasphemy." My teacher dryly chuckles. "Always get your armor. See me? I took time as well, to arm myself. If I hadn't I might have saved the merchant, but I'd be dead and then the saved would die. And you… you would have had to fight it. That thing…" A gauntlet-laden hand brushes my cheek. "You aren't ready for that."

_Keep her talking. Speech and alertness help keep the soul steady. If the soul leaves, no amount of magic or energy will save her. It would be true death._

"You had so much promise, young one…. I regret leaving you half-trained…" She says sadly. "When I pass, take my crystal. It shall be the one last lesson… the last…"

I 'shout'.

Guinivere gasps as her eyes shoot wide, the most critical of wounds stitching and life-force flooding her veins.

"…Well…" She blinks. "… well now this is awkward."

"I'm just happy you're all right."

The same couldn't be said for the others. One stranger and one hulking beast lay dead.

Guinivere nods, brushing off her para-death experience, and staggers to her feet.

"What happened?" I ask.

"A travelling merchant." My teacher answers in a brisk tone, identifying the stranger. "He came seeking refuge from the night. This being a monastery, of course he was met positively."

Guinevere met him as a guard. The priest met him as… a facilitator.

"He showed… a peculiar stone." My teacher frowned. "One that he had been transporting, allegedly. His convoy had been attacked though… by all manners of foe… and by rain, thunder, and rockslides."

I blinked. "Most unfortunate."

"He was wondering if the stone was cursed." Guinivere nodded. "And asked the priest to inspect it."

I look around. "Where is the priest? Did he make it?"

Guinivere shook her head. "You see him before you."

The monster.

"The stone changed him." Guinivere frowned. "Drove him mad. Made him into… that…"

_She killed it on her own, although the priest likely didn't know how to use the stone and did not assent. She must have caught it when the Lucavi was young to this world. _

_Still, she's quite strong._

"I presume the stone vanished with the beast…" Guinivere mused. "I do not see it here, though it is dark…"

_Do not reveal it to her. She is strong, but it is impossible to know another's heart in the brief time you've had with her. The stone can speak to the worst in us all, and those that are called 'holy' are far from immune. It's promises and power can tempt and corrupt almost anyone._

_But not you. You have defense against the promises and the lies. Something more basic and instinctual that 'good' or 'evil'._

_At your heart… you were always a pessimist._

"Leave this scene. I will bury these two, then send message to the town."

"I will help you." I offer.

"No. This is my business." Guinivere dismisses. "My lack of strength caused this. And you… you saved my life. I shan't forget. We'll talk of debts in the morning, but for now you protect your sister and the other. I will keep watch tonight."

* * *

><p>Water washes over me.<p>

"Thanks." I say as Alma moves on to scrubbing my back. We had done that for each other when we were very small. It's been years though, and we've grown.

But this night I needed a bath after being drenched in black blood – never mind that it had vanished into smoke upon the creature's death – and Alma wouldn't leave my side.

It's been a rough night for her.

"No problem brother. It's the least I can do." She whispers. "You're my champion now, you know. I should show my gratitude and I don't have any trinkets on hand. We're not allowed to bring much to the monastery."

"I thought I was your champion already." I observe. "Remember Burtus?"

Burtus the mad dog was an infamous creature that I had stared down in my youth quite bravely for my sister's sake.

Well… we later found that it had been chained though.

"Yes of course." She laughs gently. "My Hero."

"Mine as well." A voice whispers behind me.

I start. What?

"Don't worry." Alma chides. "We're both fully clothed of course."

"I'm not." I blush and observe. I have a towel to protect my modesty, and Alma was one thing, but being shirtless in front of another girl? A noble girl?

Alma slaps my bare shoulder. "You're a boy! Don't worry about it!"

"Do you treat all your heroes this way?" I demand. Can you not tease me for one day?

"Y-You don't have anything to be embarrassed about." The other girl says. "You… um… oh, don't make me say it!"

Say what?

"She means you look better with your shirt off, brother."

Oh god.

I feel tentative hands begin to rub me down. "Like this Alma? I've never…"

"It's the thought that counts Olivia."

"Olivia?" I ask. Odd name. "I know it's frequent enough amongst the commonwealth, but I thought it was considered bad form for a noble to copy the princess's name."

"Oh." Alma pauses. "Well… she's… from the country. They don't really worry about things like that there."

That made sense.

"Your muscles are so hard." Olivia whispers. "Are all boys this hard?"

"You'd be surprised how hard they are in the head." Alma jests.

"Hey!"

It takes some getting used to, with the stranger here, but eventually I do relax into the scrub.

It's nice. I had been tense. Even more so than after a regular battle with some random monster.

That had been… more. The threat of it. The fear.

… a fell creature…

"Alma, tell him!" I hear Olivia whisper.

"Why me?"

"He's your brother!"

"Well he's not yours. You can bat your lashes at him and flirt to get your way!"

"Alma! I never!"

"Okay, okay!" I hear Alma concede. "Um… brother?"

…At least they're lively. "Yes?"

"Can… we sleep in your room tonight?"

I turn over my shoulder and stare at her.

"We're scared." She clarifies sincerely. "Both of us."

"But I…" I look to Olivia. "That's really improper, isn't it?"

"The whole night has been improper, brother." Alma says. "We should be safe here, but we aren't… A common, if oversized, rat became a creature out of a nightmare within seconds… And after you slew it, it vanished into so much smoke."

Alma's scrubbing stops and she just sort of massages my shoulders. "Brother, it bled black."

"Yes." I close my eyes. "It did."

Like the creatures in my dreams.

"You said not to try to report what happened tonight, and to say nothing of the stone you found, and I trust you." Alma assured. "We both trust you. You are our hero now, and if a lady can't trust her hero then she can't very well trust anyone. So we will do as you say, brother. We will keep our silence. Only… we are scared."

I look at her. "Put the puppy-dog eyes away. They aren't needed. I had thought I would sleep by your door…"

"We… We don't want to go back in there." Olivia explained.

"Then I could sleep by my door I suppose, but we'd have to get you back to your room before sunrise." I explain.

_It can be done. _

"Oh, just let us sleep all together brother. We won't be able to sleep at all otherwise, for fear of some creature coming through the window or out from under the bed, and then becoming a monstrous thing. We must have a hand on you to feel safe tonight, as you would need a hand on your sword. And it's only improper if we are caught."

What a brazen thing to say.

But she's right. I will be sleeping with my sword out tonight, if indeed I sleep at all.

I look at Olivia and she nods tentatively.

Oh… very well.

"…Do you snore?" I can't help but ask.

I receive "ladies do not snore." In perfect stereo.

…right.

* * *

><p>AN: Humbug.

I was surprised when people started reading this without having played the game. 1, because it's just a little unusual. 2. because the game is just so damn good.

Minerva really is the name of that chemist. At least for me. I don't know if it's randomly generated.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: FFTimetravel. Now with 30% less time travelling relevence.

* * *

><p>Chapter 3<p>

_Alma is back. Through sheer force of will, she separated herself from the false god Ajora._

_She was always quite individualistic so I presume that helped._

_Ajora remains, but is hopefully weakened._

_She stands before us, a fell beast. That saint that we praise and worship is… a terrible beast._

_Our entire religion is a front for a cult most foul._

_And I have to end it. I have to stop this here._

_Damn. If only I had arranged for a more thorough blitzing of her minion!_

_"Orlandou." I whisper._

_"Y-Yes?"_

_The man stuttered._

_He never stutters._

_But then again, here we stand at the brink of catastrophe, about to kill the saint that all Holy Knights adore, and faced with an overwhelming certainty that what we see now really is a monster that even monsters worship._

_He could be excused_

_"Sword." I designate._

_He grips the steel in his hand more firmly, and steel bleeds into his voice as well. "…Right."_

_I signal that all else are to fan out in three seconds, and I bring Masamune to bear. It will grant us speed and passive healing magic._

_Orlandou would deal damage. All the rest of us would simply try to survive._

_We were so tired from our last battle… and against this enemy… this overwhelming force… it was all I could think of._

_We just need to make this work._

_There are nods all around, even one from Alma._

_Alma, no…_

_"Don't tell me no brother. I'll always be there for you. We promised."_

_…You were always…_

_…so stubborn._

_I turn to our enemy. I'll have to keep an eye on Alma on a peripheral, but this is the fate of the world. Battle effectiveness will have to… it rails against my every protective instinct towards her, but…_

_…At least she is a support caster._

_"Stay back with Minerva and Meilandoul." I tell her._

_I want this to end well. I want us all to make it home together._

_If I have to mail my condolences to the family of anyone else…_

_…If I must dig one more grave…_

_…I think I will break._

_Like my Katana, I am at my limit._

_Desperation feeds me and I uncork a Hi-potion, keeping it between my lips even as I dashed on. I toss an x-potion, our last, to Orlandou and he gives me a look before copying my actions._

_Yes Orlandou. You are sword._

_A swordsman protects their sword at all costs, for without it there is weakness and death. In all likelihood the last blow will come from you._

_So you must survive until that last moment._

_Orlandou is flanking my left. Agrias, my right._

_I send signals off._

_I will crash upon Ajora like a cresting wave – from on high – and hopefully keep her in place with that._

_Then she must be flanked and occupied._

_I spit the empty Hi-potion bottle, draw Masamune, and leap._

_I land in empty space, my sword crashing into the dilapidated wooden floor._

_That was… teleport?_

_The time-mage skill?_

_Oh no. This changes every –_

_**"This realm is under my control…"** she whispers into my ear._

_From behind me._

_There is a specific form to deal with that, and on instinct I switch to a reverse grip and stab Muramasa through the gap under my arm._

_**"Here, all of space… is mine."**_

_Her voice remains. Her form is gone._

_Damn._

_Damn._

_Damn!_

_"Scatter!" I scream._

_The support casters._

_Alma!_

* * *

><p>That… was a new one.<p>

It was odd. I have been plagued by these dreams for most of my life and often times I repeat particular dreams over and over again. Yet evere since coming to this monastery and killing that rat… I've been seeing new ones every night.

I wonder if there's a connection.

"Mna…Mna…"

Mumbling. Utter mumbling. The source of this is lies under the little mop of blond hair resting on my shoulder.

After the first night of sleeping with Alma and Ovelia, there had been less cause for fear of their own room. The dreadful night where a rat had invaded their abode, and then transformed was farther away.

But a precedent had been set for our sleeping arrangement, and of course that made it less worry to sleep together once more.

And so matters remained in balance, or so Alma had argued.

What had begun as one night of solace had quickly turned to two. And then three, and of course to four.

And then Alma, bless her blunt and honest disposition, made a movement to simply throw out all manner of pretense and just carry on forever.

Again, it was supposedly only improper if anyone found out. And we were young enough that it didn't matter so terribly, besides.

Young enough? I have been allowed to handle live steel, and I go to the academy soon. I'm twelve years now. In two more, I'll be a man.

I really am not so sure what to do about her. If she ever finds a good man to settle down with, I might have to take pity on him.

After I threaten him not to harm my sister and all that.

Regardless, it's been a week. And in this week I have learned of one thing.

Humans are really adaptable. How quickly we fall into a routine.

I awake before the sun. It's not hard, since I don't sleep all that soundly.

Both of them snore.

In fact, Ovelia seems fond of snoring directly into my eardrum, as she has somewhat claimed the crook of my neck for herself. Alma, of course, doesn't care where she lays her head.

We have spent so many nights together, seeking refuge from the dark, that she is rather satisfied with me just being in arm's reach. Why?

Because any bastard that dared threaten her had better be ready for me.

But yes, Alma's snoring is pretty annoying too.

I shake Ovelia awake. She rolls out of bed, literally, and falls with a thud to the floor.

It's funnier than it sounds.

She's really not a morning person.

Or… a per-morning person.

At any rate, I shuffle them to their rooms and get prepared for my own morning excitement.

The priest has passed on and the girls have had their studies postponed but my own instructor yet lives.

So I am to be baptized.

* * *

><p>"Ah. Ramza." Guinivere addresses. Her trademark silver armor gleams in the morning sun – a mark of her care.<p>

She polishes.

"And you brought your armor. Good lad!"

I smile wryly at my mentor. She was many things, and had taught me much.

I almost went to bed with my armor on last night, by pure accident, before Alma stopped me.

She wouldn't have it of course. I was already 'far too hard' for her liking as a mattress for herself.

"Good morn, Master." I greet as I meet her atop this small hill. The waterfall behind her drops water down unto smoothed rocks ceaselessly, and it is carried away by a small stream.

Surrounded by this lush and open green landscape, with even the church itself old and covered with vines in bloom…

It's a truly peaceful and wholesome environment to be blessed with.

To think there had been death this past week…

Sir Guinivere breaks me from my appreciation of the scenery. "You'll have to stop calling me that soon. And just when I was getting used to it!" She smiles. "After your baptism, assuming all goes well, you shall be my peer. I shall still teach you, but it shall be as one soldier to another. We will be master and page no longer. What a short run you've had of it! I was a page for years. And to be a soldier before being a man? You Bevoules really are odd creatures." She shook her head in bemusement.

Other people – ones more preoccupied with status and power – might be offended at my fast progress. Indeed, many of my private instructors had. But not Sir Guinevere. She was too… righteous for all that.

And for this she earned my profound respect.

"This is the spot. Here." My teacher explains. "This is where it will happen. The priest has left us. As a dutiful man of the cloth – a fact which I will attest to for the rest of my life – he has surely been allowed passage to a better place than even this life. Still, we are left alone without his aid." My teacher mused. In the past week, she has never failed to speak well of the preist whenever and however he came up in conversation.

I take that she had known him well, and that she wished to honor her friend in death.

I find her really brave for moving on as well as she has, even as she remembers the fallen every single moment of the day.

If I should be half the knight she is, I will be pleased with myself.

My teacher clears her throat. "And so, we cannot place you under the holy light." She considers her words for a few seconds. "And to be frank, I rather prefer it this way. You are a strong lad, Ramza." She admits. "Strong enough that once you enter manhood properly, I expect you to be equal in power to your father. And no soul who has ever served besides Balbanes Bevoule would ever give that praise lightsly."

She fixated me with a stern look. "Your father and the one they call 'Thunder God' both commanded such holy light as I have never seen. They cleaved catapults and carved entryways out of castle walls. And we were all fortunate they were good men – or perhaps they were so powerful _because _they were good men – and in ten years that shall be you. And we cannot leave you up to fortune, Ramza. We must get it right with you." Sir Guinivere tells me. "For the north and southern sky generals are old and ill. And I fear there will be little force to balance you if you were to go astray. Yes." She nodded. "I do not begrudge you your talent, Ramza, but we must get it right with you."

_This is more than a ritual to unlock power. It is a screening process for an elite order. _

_Fail, and she will never in her life take her eyes off of you. You will be a liability to her forever. _

_She will chase you down to the ends of the earth and kill you if she must, as a matter of responsibility._

I consider her words. Her praise is far too high, I think. I have no expectation of being able to cut a catapult up any time soon, that much is certain.

But I can hardly complain about having it 'gotten right' with me. It's generally better to get things right, rather than the alternative, after all.

"What must I do?" I ask.

"You meditate." Sir Guinivere explains. "I always found baptism by the church's light to be far too contrived. No mortal, not even the pope himself, holds a true and stable feed to the higher divine realm. What we use to fuel our techniques, and what we ultimately swear by, is justice itself. It is the bit of divine that rests within us all. Why be exposed to holy light directly, in a rather exhaustive ritual, in order to grasp the nature of the divine when what we ultimately use lies closer to home?"

"The holy spirit." I clarify.

"Of course." My teacher nods. "Once you grasp fully the nature of good and evil, and have a true and clear conscience, you will be able to channel the divine energy gifted by god amongst all his children. You have the blood, the blade, and the teachings. Now only this last step remains. It shall be baptism by meditation – as we used to do in my father's time. And my father's father's time. And –"

"And which you probably did yourself." I finish, beginning to get the picture.

"Oh Ramza, you'll see. It is a whole different life." Sir Guinevere explains to me. "It is a true baptism, much as the one which you had when you were but an infant. When you leave there again, you will be reborn into this world as an agent of justice and judgement. The blade at your side and the armor on your back shall be as your siblings forever, for they were born again with you. You shall be…" She searched for the words "… happy, Ramza. For you shall be fair. And strong. For all your life you shall be fair and strong, and you will see that such is indeed enough to make one happy. At least, it was plenty enough for me."

_It is enough. Enough to keep a spec of one's warmth in the most blistering cold. Enough to keep one safe. Enough to keep one sane when the world flips around and all refuges are lost.  
><em>

_Enough to feel alive._

I had made my decision long ago... I would follow this path through.

Only...

"You want me to meditate… in there?" I ask.

I stare at the waterfall. It is of moderate width, but the fall of the water is from quite high up. I can only imagine the pressure and the cold from such a task.

Being told to meditate on the nature of good and evil was like being told to empty the ocean with a pail and a pitcher.

One could be at it their whole lives and make no significant headway.

And it's September.

"It's September." I clarify.

_Moderate risks of hypothermia exist. Keep your limbs close at all times to conserve heat._

"For the moment." She nods. "And if you take too long to work out for yourself the nature of good and evil, you will fall squarely within the cool embrace of October. And then, of course, December."

…I'm beginning to suspect that all the women in my life are going to be progressively less good for my personal health.

* * *

><p>AN: Back by nothing more than popular demand. It's FFTimetravel.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: This is v3 of this particular chapter. V1 was fully mentally laid out, and then scrapped before pen went to paper. V2's dream sequence was half-done, and then scrapped. V3 is this. It is preachy, but that is the nature of the organization and the powers that are involved.

* * *

><p>Chapter 4<p>

_Alma. Meliadoul. Minerva._

_Please. Please._

_I need to intercept, but they are at the other side of this dilapidated ship, and our enemy ignores the constraints of time and space._

_Low on inventory, low on magical energy, and low on stamina._

_But I must reach._

_I pull ahead of the other members of the attacking squad. They are knights and I…_

_…I am a squire._

_I outpace them._

_But I will never get there in time. Yet…_

_I lash out with a Katana, in a circular Iado drawing-slash._

_This cuts the mast down at an angle, and with barely a creak, it begins to slide down._

_"Agrias" I yell. "Take it!"_

_There is clanking behind me. Orlandeau scrapes the wooden floor as he slides into a crouch, his greaves digging into the oak of the ship deck. In another moment, I know he has clasped his hands together, and I turn in time to seamlessly accept a foot up to scale the still falling mast._

_And I clamber up, for I was a traveller that had stepped upon every uneven terrain of Ivalace. I could scale, I think, anything._

_As the mast falls, when it reaches the 30-degree angle with the floor…_

_I will have sufficient height, distance, and clearance._

_It's there. It must be right._

_And the falling mast comes to a lurching halt, for Agrias has taken it. She, with her monsterous fortitude, has caught it._

_I am ready to hurl my Katana, spinning through the air, using the Ninja's dissagregation concepts of form and function. Anything could be used. Anything could be thrown._

_Anything could kill._

_I must not miss._

_And I do not._

_But my target vanishes again, and my heart sinks as she appears in a flash before me upon the mast._

_For she is smiling._

_And in a blinding light, that only her imposing form obscures, I see the last of my family disintegrate in a blinding blue illumination that Ajora politely tells me is called 'All-Ultima'._

* * *

><p>I lurch forwards in my place beneath the waterfall, Ajora's smirk still frozen in my mind.<p>

I had fallen asleep in this wintry torrent, and now I cannot discern where the water stops and where my cold sweat begins.

"Brother?" Alma 'eep's. "Are you allright?"

She has brought me supper. I do not care, and knock the plate down, that I may hold her to my armored chest and rest my chin upon her shoulder. "Alma. Thank God." I shiver. "Thank God."

"Brother…" She mutters. "You had a bad dream."

I don't care. It had felt real.

Not just her, Minerva…

The faithful Minerva, who stood so strong and fast. She who had so little personal stake in our endeavor. She who fought on by my side from the academy to hell itself… for nothing but pure, undetailed, noble intentions.

And Meliadoul, who had suffered at the hands at war and pushed onwards. When she found her Sword-Skills lacking effectiveness next to the Holy Sword arts of Agrias and Orlandou, she had cast her pride away and taken up the staff. For she would endure anything, she said, to be of use. To bite the bitter hand that had blighted her life. And to help her friends and comrades, whom she had come to cherish more than all the estates she had left behind.

And Alma, last of my blood in that cursed world. She who was naïve and ignorant of the scope of things. Yet, at the end, with so little understanding… she stood up to fight. Not for the world. For me. Because, as children, we had sworn to never let each other down.

They had not deserved to die. Not in life, and not in a dream. Not in fiction. Not _anywhere_.

They had not deserved to die, and I had failed them.

And I would learn from that nightmare, or I would never forgive myself.

"Alma. Listen to me." I tell her. "I will never let you die."

"Brother? What is this all of a sudden?"

"It's not all of a sudden." I object. "I have always… always been looking out for you. I…" I pause. My mind, it moves so slowly. As if the cold of the relentless waterfall has numbed it. "I… don't need you to understand, actually."

Sister's expression becomes more puzzled, not less, by my explanation.

"It's not about you." I mutter to myself. "It's about me. I…"

I have come to a sudden revelation. I have come to enlightenment. I know what I feel is Good, and what is Evil.

"I will never let you die." I promise to myself, for this is not about her. This is about me. "Never, Alma. I don't care what I must endure. Regardless of what I must suffer, or pay, or lose." I swear. "I will never let _you _be lost."

She huffs, and gives me an amused look – perhaps writing my ranting off to my present state.

Honestly, she doesn't seem particularly moved by my heartfelt declaration. But then again…

…it wasn't anything new.

* * *

><p>It is cold. It is dark. Sir Guinevere stares at my watery encampment<p>

"Yes Squire? I heard you wished to speak with me."

The moonlight glints off of her armor and, again perhaps due to the blistering cold-induced hallucinations, she seems to be rather ethereal.

"What did you wish to discuss?"

"I want to discuss…" I tell her around my chattering teeth. "Good and Evil."

Her delicate eyebrow raises. "Interesting." Is her only word.

"Good…" I mutter, thinking back to what I felt when I saw my comrades die within my dreams.

Yes. It was a dream. But that did not make it less real where it counted.

It was 100% real within my heart, and my heart was very clear on how it felt.

"Good is… to help others." I tell Sir Guinevere. "That is Good's definition, to me. "True good and evil is for God to decide." I amend. "But I will call it Good."

She says nothing.

"And Evil is to hurt others. That is Evil's definition." I continue. "And when a man must strike down another man, to save yet another… Then that is both Good and Evil at once, and I must not forget or excuse the Evil I have born for the sake of Good." I say. "For such a thing would make me a monster."

Sir Guinevere's lips quirk. "Oh… really?" She asks.

I can't help but think she's laughing internally.

"Really…" She mutters.

"I suppose you think it's naïve." I sigh. "But that's how I really feel."

It is then that my teacher deigns to step into the pool at the bottom of the waterfall, walking up to me with a steady clank-splash-clank-splash as she comes to stand before me. "We are all a bit naïve, Ramza. That is how I know humanity is worth saving. But, Ramza…" She muses. "What of the man who does nothing to others? What of the hermit, who neither helps nor harms another soul? What of the average man, who has no intentions but to give and get what is due?"

"That is neither Good, nor Evil. It is normal." I answer, staring into her cerulean eyes. "And it is wonderful."

Peals of laughter break from her then, such that my rigid instructor must turn from me and even fight to catch her breath.

I await her calming patiently.

"You are beautifully naïve." She commends, at last.

"Do I fail?" I hazard.

Am I to be stuck in this waterfall, forever?

"Fail? Pass?" Sir Guinevere shakes her head. "That is not for me to decide." She nods down. "Try it. If your heart is clear and good, the Holy Spirit within shall be open to you. And that is all there is to it."

I look down to the sword I have buried at my feet, enduring this 'baptism' at my side.

With shaking hands, I reach out towards the plain knightsword my father had given to me.

And I grasp it…

… And as I grasp it…

…I feel whole.

And it is in that moment, that I know what will come to pass.

I have succeeded. I have defined Good and Evil, fully and truly, to my own heart.

The world snaps into an array of black and white, and many shades of grey which can all be defined.

And I feel at peace. And I feel certain.

And I feel I am Justice itself.

With a lurch, I mutter the name of the Holy Knight's first skill. I feel the fire in my soul cry out, and roar through my whole body.

I feel it roar through my sword as well, for the sword is as myself. It is my brother. It is my twin. It has endured this task with me and has been reborn with me.

And I launch this power out and into the world.

With a wet crash, I know that above me a crystal has imbedded itself within the crest of the waterfall.

It does not obstruct the water. It does not part it, or alter it's trajectory.

It halts it, midair. It traps it, frozen in time.

It is settled. I am a Holy Knight.

"I'll be inside." I tell my teacher as I stumble past, clutching my brother to my chest. "I could really use a hot coffee."

She doesn't answer. She only continues to look past me, frozen as she stares at the water frozen in time.

* * *

><p>AN: I'll keep writing if you keep reviewing. Deal? Deal.

Oh man. Ok guys, I'm really hurting for good fanfiction. I feel like all the good writers I've been following have quit, and it's really hard to find new ones. Someone give me a heads up on some classy stuff. Like, you know... classy. Like... with class. Agh, I can't describe it. Something like mine. Not the grammar, or the genre, though that's all fine. Just... something with class. Please help a guy out, I have like nothing to read. Even TFF has dried up a lot.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: I recently posted a chapter on my secondary project, 'I Just Want a Vacation'. I got 6 reviews and I'm pissed.

Therefore, congratulations, this story has officially become my secondary project. I won't tell you to expect updates often, but definitely more frequently than my Zelda fic.

* * *

><p>Chapter 5<p>

I awake, slowly.

Oh thank god.

A dreamless night.

My nightmares… I was growing weary of them. They wore me down, such that night seemed even more fitful than day.

And I needed the rest. I was a dead man walking last night, after my endurance test of an initiation. I had meditated underneath that waterfall for three days, and two nights.

In fact I was amazed I had fallen asleep underneath that torrent at all, for even the brief time I had.

But perhaps that was it? Perhaps sheer exhaustion kept me from my dreams?

Perhaps it was my new stature as a Holy Knight.

I know not.

"Mna." Ovelia mumbles into my ear.

It tickles.

"Come on." I shake her awake. "The day's begun, Ovelia."

"Hm?" She answers groggily, before yawning grandly. "Oh my, that was a restful night." She said with a stretch.

Gone were all pretenses of shyness. At this point I may as well be a stuffed bear, for all the note she gave my presence in our bed.

"Alma was right." She added. "You really make a difference. I'm jealous now." She admitted. "I shall miss you when we part ways. My nights shall be cold, my thoughts clouded, and my ears shall miss the steady beat of your kind heart." She explains.

I stare at her, transfixed by her unusually forthcoming statement. Her matted hair and silly smile… they're ailments, I think, of her half-asleep state.

And they suit her. She looks very… real when she is all crumpled and tired, and honest.

She looks very real, and yet somehow too good to be so.

Of course, she then pales, and turns away with a start – breaking the spell.

That magical place of daybreak, between dreams and wakefulness, has passed.

_Now _the embarrassment settles in.

"Oh, erm, ex-excuse the words of a dreamer please, Ramza." She smiled weakly at me, over her shoulder.

"No." I return. "I was flattered. And if anything's to blame for boldness, then it must be my sister's influence."

She giggles fiercely at that. "Oh – Oh yes." She nods excitedly. "Well, I could hardly deny that."

Speaking of, the girl in question chose the moment to come in the door. "Good morn, brother." She greets. "I had the strangest experience."

I blink. "That's abrupt." I note. "But is that why you can be found up so early?"

She nods slowly. "I think…" She muses, as she narrows her eyes and sucks in her bottom lip slightly in consternation. "…That I may have taken up sleep-walking. I found myself this morning unconcious in the fields. It was most strange."

Strange indeed.

_And dangerous._

Yes…

"We'll have to be careful then." I explain seriously, meeting a nod from her.

"And… brother…" She said, hesitantly, seeming to become shy as she pulled her hands from behind her back at last. "I had this with me."

Ovelia gasps, and with a lunge I snatch the stone from my sister's hands.

Damn.

_Damn!_

The stone. What did this mean?

_It has targeted her. It is a thing that controls and lures. Both carrot and stick are its tools of trade. It is a con-artist. It is a liar. It is a thief. It tempts with all the right things, for all the wrong reasons._

_So she ought to be quite resistant, being a cleric of faith, and with her personality._

_It is most likely she broke free of its clutch before anything happened._

_But best keep it away from her. Repeated assaults can weaken the greatest of fortifications._

I step back from her, slowly, not allowing my eyes to leave her face.

I search there, for some trace of… wrongness. I find none.

"When did you get it, Alma?" I asked.

"I…" she frowns… "I do not know. It was just there in my hands when I awoke. I don't recall ever taking it."

She walks towards me, and on reflex I turn so that the hand holding the stone is on my side, away from her.

Alma stops, hurt. "Brother. I didn't take it, I swear to you. Your trust is everything to me – I would never endanger it."

She steps closer.

I sigh.

"Alma… I don't mistrust you." I explain, reaching out and pulling on her until I can kiss her forehead. "I just worry."

_A more permanent solution must be found._

But who could be trusted when all mankind is so susceptible to its wiles?

"I will have to ask father about it when we get back." I decide. Father was a paragon of good. Everyone said so. And he was family.

True, his illness was growing worse, but he claimed not to be overly bothered by our visits…

"That seems to me a good idea." Alma sighs in relief.

"You'll be fine." I reassure. "It will be sorted soon."

Ovelia rushes over, and the girls hug and extract some form of feminine sisterhood comfort.

"And I took such care to hide it, too…" I muse aloud.

"Brother." Alma stops me with a lopsided smile. "If you were using your old hiding place of beneath the mattress, please know that it is not nearly so cleaver as you imagine."

I stare at her agape.

She just shrugs.

…Well…

…Well that… sucks...

I was very proud of that location.

_A new hiding place must be found…_

_…This is a challenge._

I shake my head with a start. "I will meditate on it later. We should get ready for the day."

"Our last together." Alma frowns.

"Yes." Ovelia affirms, sadly. "Our last."

"There." Ovelia says in satisfaction after just producing the low, slightly lonely, whistling tune that comes from the grass flute. "At last, and just in time." She says, quite evidently pleased with herself.

Alma has excused herself to (purposefully, and with a wink) leave the two of us alone.

Sir Guinevere has no need of me today either, as we are teacher and student no longer.

So I and Ovelia are left to sit by ourselves on this beautiful day, upon this open expanse of nature.

"And now, all my spluttering attempts up until this point have been utterly erased." She declared.

"No," I deny. "Sorry."

She frowns at me. "You said-"

"I know." I cut in. "And I'm trying to forget them, truly and earnestly." I assure. "But they really were very funny."

"You're teasing me." Ovelia gives me a flat look. "Is it alright if I slap you?" She asks.

"Probably." I admit.

"I don't feel comfortable with it." She decides at length. "Slap yourself, please."

I stare at her for some seconds, and she stares back expectantly.

I sigh, and do so.

She giggles at me. I smile wryly.

It takes some time for the mirth to die down.

Alma and I had grown closer to Ovelia over the weeks together. Well, the three of us we were young and with no one better at hand for company.

And we had been through a bloody night together, and left it bound in a common secret, as well.

Ovelia was remarkably naïve, and easily offended. But she held a certain honesty and nobility in her actions, and I found her quite sensible once I'd gotten to know her at length.

In all honesty, I felt we were good friends…

But perhaps we are trying a bit extra hard to be happy at the moment…

For we shall part ways today.

"I've been meaning to say this," Ovelia mentioned at last, "but I think we've been spending too much time about your sister."

"I have no denial for you." I admit. "We are being unusually silly."

"Yes." Ovelia nodded. "It is all her doing."

"I'll have to apologize on her behalf." I explain.

"Well I shan't ever forgive her." Ovelia denies. "I was a properly dour young lady before I met her."

"Were you?" I interject suddenly.

"Oh." Ovelia blinks, off-footed by the change in discussion. "Well, outwardly I was." She admits. "You see, I haven't had all that much interaction with people our own age before. I spent most of my time reading books and studying at monasteries. There was the rare party, I suppose," she mused with a strained smile, "but those aren't the same."

"So you haven't actually spent much time in the country." I surmise. "I see."

I had wondered at her lack of accent.

"Country?" She echoes. "Oh… yes."

And, strangely, she pulls up her knees to her chest as if she's cold. Then she rests her chin upon them and frowns slightly. "The country…" She whispers.

Perhaps she's homesick.

Or perhaps she doesn't want to go home.

I don't.

For all that has occurred here, much was gained as well.

A teacher whom I deeply admire, a clarity of philosophy, of course a sword skill…

…And…

"Ovelia." I say suddenly. "Can we go for a walk, perhaps?"

* * *

><p>I guide her up the path towards an all-too-familiar spot for me.<p>

"Oh." She says in surprise. "This is where you endured Sir Guinevere's trial, is it not?"

I clear my throat.

"Yes." I nod.

"And?" She asks.

And?

And….

And this shouldn't be so hard.

"And, well…" I fumble. "Well it seemed an appropriate place. Just yesterday, I was cursing its very existence but… it really is very beautiful." I explain, staring at her. "And it has come to put me at ease."

"I see." Ovelia nods. "Yes, it is rather majestic. Appropriate for what, though?"

I clear my throat again.

_Just man up._

…Damnit.

"I'm sorry if this is awkward, Ovelia." I say sincerely, before dropping to one knee slowly. "Ovelia I've told you this before but I am an ignoble son. My parents were married under God, but my mother was a plebian." I explain. "I have common blood in me, Ovelia, and all my children shall have common blood as well. And their children, and so on, and so forth."

I break the rigid pose to awkwardly shift and adjust my shirt, looking down.

"I may be a Holy Knight now, I suppose." I allow. "But, that is a matter of membership to an order and does not afford me the actual rank of knight. Barring extraordinary service in – God forbid – a new war… I shall never hold the title of count or duke. In fact, I should be lucky if I ever make Baron. I think it's important that you know that, up front. And…"

And…

What was it again?

God, I've forgot my speech six sentences in.

There was a poem in there too, somewhere, courtesy of Alma's insistence.

Why is this so difficult!

_You've always been a terrible poet anyways._

I take a deep breath and let it out in a sigh.

"Well what I mean to say is that I've sent a letter to your parents in the country." I explain in a rush. "I've asked them for permission to court you, and I've come here to tell you straight away because… if you wouldn't like it Ovelia then we shall let that be the end to it." I say earnestly.

And it is then I dare to look at her face, for I must not turn away and say what I have to say next.

She seems to have a stunned, blank, expression. And in a fluff of skirt frills she plopps down to sit before my kneeling form, and continue to affix me with the same stunned look.

Okay. Don't panic.

That is neither good nor bad. It is simply unnerving, but that much I can bear.

Right? Right.

_The battlefield is no place for regrets. There will be time enough afterwards._

Right.

"Ovelia, I find that you're a remarkably kind girl." I explain wholeheartedly. "And I think that you're quite clever. And you were as brave as anyone could ask that night with the rat, considering your background. And I find I can enjoy speaking with you at all hours of the day, and even openly." I'm rambling, but though I know this, I cannot stop. "And I find you rather sensible. And Alma likes you, of course, and though it might be odd that's rather important to me. And you also don't snore so much as her – in fact I think it's a bit cute."

_Don't neglect the basics, fool!_

"And you are very pretty!" I tack on in a rush. I would be an utter fool to miss that one. I cough into my fist fake-ly to stall for time. "So basically… I don't much savor the thought of you going away. In the end I just thought… well… that perhaps we could begin on a path where … we could be together permanently. It would make me very happy Ovelia, and I know that I don't have much that I can offer you… but I will do my best to make you happy too. I think that we… could make for a very happy family."

And such was more than I had ever expected, before I met her. That was why I was brought to this difficult time. I couldn't stand to let her just… _go_.

And now I have said my peace.

I have reached the point where I hold my breath.

_Hold the line._

I will not bolt until I have been thoroughly shot down. I swear it.

And at last, I find a response from Ovelia.

With shaking hands, she reaches up towards her face. I fear she may try and cover a giggle or, worse, just slap me.

But she surprises me soundly when she opens her mouth wide and bites down on her right index finger.

After a quick jolt, she begins to shake her hand as if it were on fire. "Ow, ow, ow, ow." She complains quietly. "That hurt. That hurt?" She asked in wonder, staring at her finger. "I hurt myself."

"I saw." I agree. "I'm confused as to what type of signal that is meant to be."

I will not bolt until I have been thoroughly shot down.

I will not bolt until I have been thoroughly shot down.

How will I know if I have been thoroughly shot down or not?

"It's real…" She whispered. "Oh Ramza, you want to marry me?"

She reaches out, and using some feminine ability that really goes beyond my training to describe, she is before me in a flash.

"Oh Ramza, I never thought…"

She smiles sweetly as she holds my face in her hands, and pulls me close.

She is all silk, I think. Her dress is a frilly red silk, and her gloves a smooth white, and her lips.

And as she wraps her arms around me, and I instinctively hold her close upon my lap, I realize…

Gods, she's all silk.

"Wow," she says dreamily as she pulls away, before clearing her throat, "well, you're quite a good kisser."

"Am I?" I ask. "If you say so."

"Was I your first then?" She asks coyly. "You were my first."

"What a coincidence." I say.

I really am a bad conversationalist at the moment, but she has struck me dumb and I cannot recover.

She smiles at me brilliantly. "Will you be my second?" she asks.

I embrace her then, happy. I embrace the silk. I kiss the silk.

"That was my second." I admit when we part.

"M-Mine as well." Ovelia gasps breathlessly.

And together we say… "What a coincidence."

"Your third will be my third." She tells me as she smiles up at me sweetly.

"And your forth, my fourth." I swear.

"Again and again." Ovelia smiles. "Onto infinity."

"Well," I interrupt, embarrassment increasing by the subject, "we'll see. There is the matter of your parents. Mine surely won't care. Actually, this is a bit improper. We shouldn't have done that. I haven't permission. If your parents agree," I tell her, "then I shall visit you at your country estate whenever I can, and I shall attempt to win your favor properly." I promise. "With all the steps and everything. Even the dancing."

I shall take classes.

She seems ready to laugh at me, then, for obviously she finds me foolish. I have been a great fool today so there is not much defense on my part.

And then she stops, and her smile seems to evaporate like the morning dew.

I frown, and check over my shoulder, expecting some terrifying sight such as Sir Guinevere with a moral chastisement.

I see nothing but open sky, and turn back, confused.

"My country estate." She echoes in a strange, hollow tone. "My country estate… oh God." She gasps, gloved hand coming up towards her mouth. "Oh, God, no."

Ah. Don't tell me she's going to –

"Ow." She tells me hollowly.

She's bitten her fingers again. "It's real." She explains.

Yes. I see.

…No I don't.

"It can't be real." She whispers. "Oh, no. No, no. I never thought you'd return my affection. Not in the waking world. I pined and pined, and I held you in my dreams. When it happened for real, I was so overwhelmed I didn't think. I didn't think." She mutters.

And saying this confounding thing, she stands up and begins to pace. "Country estate? I'm not – I don't _have _a country estate!" She cried. "I could get one." She admits, mid-pace. "I suppose – yes, I think I could. No, that isn't the problem!"

I am very confused.

She freezes there, halfway through her ferocious pacing circuit, and stares at me. There, her fright exaggerates, and turns to horror. "Oh Ramza." She says. "Oh Ramza, it's all gone wrong. I can't… I should. I must." She tells me. "You're mine!" She yells, all of a sudden, horror never once leaving her face. And she reaches out to me, to almost take my face again in her silk gloved hands. And she stops. "I can't." She repeats. "It's all gone wrong."

"Ovelia, listen," I say as I stand, for now I must be a man if ever I will. I cannot bear to see her this way, "if I've done something wrong –"

But she has turned and fled, and it is quite some time before I become un-muddled enough to follow.

* * *

><p>It is at the monastery grand double doors that I find Alma standing imperiously, hands on her hips. "Brother." She greets. "What have you done? Was your poetry that bad?"<p>

"I forgot the poetry." I admit.

"She refuses to see you, she says little to me between all the sobbing, and she is inconsolable." Alma tells me. "I plan to banish you to the wilderness until her carriage arrives for her."

What is this pain in my chest… "Alright." I say, lamely.

It shouldn't have come to this. I had it all planned, with the full potential of all my considerable pessimism.

I knew she could take me or leave me, but I was certain when I set out this morning that I wouldn't make her cry.

How…

"What did you do?" Alma presses.

There is only one thing I can think of…

"I kissed her." I admit.

A harsh slap is my only reply.

"Go cool off under your waterfall, until I call for you." She tells me. "I will try to talk to her again."

Bewildered and lost, and utterly forsaken... I nod numbly and stagger off.

Ovelia deserved to be so very happy.

And it seemed I was a fool to think I could help in that.

* * *

><p>AN:

You knew it was coming. I knew it was coming.

And still, it just breaks my heart.

But there, setup complete.

This story is still refreshingly old-fashioned. When can you get away with teenagers worrying about marriage and propriety? Why, in ye olde history of course. Back when you couldn't divorce, shit was really important, and a miss-call meant a life of misery from which death was the only escape.

I want to thank you all for the fanfiction recommendations. Really appreciated it. Some of them sucked though. Or I just have exotic standards. Probably the latter.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This is starting to get harder to write. It's bothersome, but such things seem to happen with every story.

* * *

><p>Chapter 6<p>

_Altima. She calls herself Altima now._

_This woman in blood red and angel wings, who claims to be the founding saint of our church._

_This fake, fell creature, who smiles as she blasts apart the ship around us at the snap of her fingers…_

_She calls herself Altima._

_She leers down at me from where she hovers above me so daintily in the air._

_She leers down, neither angry nor determined. Neither fearful nor calculating._

_She leers down… happily. She smiles, and teases, and dances through the blood and the scorched wood._

_And I am struck with the alien thought that… this all must just make her happy._

_I have seen all manner of men and women. I have killed the greedy, the evil, and the good._

_I have slain every form of monster, of every tier and deviation._

_But I have never seen anyone so truly blissful for the act of carnage._

_And I realize here, why the Lucavi worship this woman. It's more than raw power. It's more than leadership or status._

_She is fundamentally… just so disgusting._

_"Something to say… boy?" She asks. She stays before me, out of pure amusement. I kneel here, wounded and bloody, just trying to gather the strength to stand up to her, and she stares at me in enjoyment._

_"Yes." I respond. "Wipe that smile off your face."_

_She giggles._

_"Or you'll wipe it off?" She asks. "Is that what you're going to say? Or maybe that I'll get my due in the end? Not today, but surely good will find its path? Hm? Well?"_

_…Bitch._

_I hold up an index finger. "You talk too much." I inform her, and point to her left._

_She follows my direction, and finds herself staring down a crescent blast of holy energy, courtesy of Agrias._

_And she… catches it._

_The high, bright column of energy whips up the air about it as it attempts to cut into her, but Altima holds it back in full composure._

_"I'm still smiling… boy." She informs me._

_As if I'd alert her to our attacks for no purpose. Catch Agrias's if you'd like._

_The fundamental rule of combat is to defend and occupy with the shield. And strike with the sword._

_I snap a signal off, and Orlandu's attack comes crashing in from the opposite side._

_I finally see that smile drop in place of a surprised 'o' on her lips, as Altima is enveloped in Orlandu's more powerful strike. Being so struck, she staggers into Holy Explosion she'd been pushing back to begin with, and the swirling forces collide upon her and fuse with the evil at their center, into a tall tornado of bright wrath._

_Agrias stares at me, panting. I signaled her to make her way over to the support group that had fallen to 'Hi-Ultima'. We needed to get them back up. Spread out and get back into the game._

_This would not end quickly, and not traditionally either._

_More tricks would be coming._

_We need enough energy to be flexible and enough responsiveness to deal._

_"Bit simple." Orlandu commented, as he clambered over to my side. "But strangely effective."_

_Our enemy's abilities and disposition are just too strange. The rules of engagement need to be rewritten, just for her. And I haven't the time._

_But a sword will always be a sword. And a shield will always be a shield. The fundamentals work everywhere._

_He brandished his sword at the still flaring bright column. "I've never seen holy skills react in such a sustained fashion. Perhaps they respond to her evil. Blast again?"_

_You're ready to go again after just firing off the Holy Swordskill's highest attack… you're really something else Orlandu._

_I shake my head._

_We finally drew blood. Things will change._

_…It would be naive to think that a free-form teleporter would still be in that thing…_

_And there's a more probable explanation for why the bright column persists so oddly._

_She's helping it along._

_The fundamentals…_

_The block. The counter._

_The feint._

_The wood beneath us shatters, and the two of us enter free-fall._

_I am surprised at the direction of the attack. With her penchant for hovering and instant, limitless teleportation, I expected above or behind. But I also expected something unexpected, anyways._

_And as I fall through the new hole in the ship's deck, I find that below us is not the wooden structure of the boat's hold, cannon room, or hull, but sequences of wide holes in the ship. A long, simple drop to the inky black abyss stares back at me and Altima hovers there with her arms stretched at us, staring at me with a grim smile. That's probably… a charging Hi-Ultima. To cut short attempts of areal recovery._

_A simple, neatly constructed plan. At least her smile's changed._

_Orlandu swears._

_The 'sword'. At all costs, protect the sword._

_The gravity in this world is a little strange. I've noted it, since various techniques of mine must account for the familiar force._

_It is a little weaker, and so I have that bit more time before we fall past the lower ship hull and through the point of no return._

_I'm a dragoon. With preparation I can jump from anything, to anywhere. Any treebranch would do as my launching pad. Any precipice would do as my landing spot._

_I work my katana beneath my feet, even in free-fall, and make eye-contact with Orlandu._

_Goodbye, Masamune…_

_I kick off, diving for Altima._

_Raw surprise allows me to land a solid flying right cross that would shatter more mortal creatures. The Hi-Ultima she'd been holding back fires off in some random direction, as she reels._

_I'm not done yet. Kick off of her wide-eyed face. Dive back._

_Orlandu, I've got you._

_And I'm a ninja. I can throw… anything._

_Any 'Sword'._

_I have no parting words for you Orlandu. I don't know what to do. She can catch holy blasts, teleport any range, and snap her fingers to launch wide-area death._

_The only thing that occurs to me to say, as I prep to throw him, is…_

_"Win."_

_For god's sake, Orlandu, just win. Save Alma, and Agrias, and Meilandoul, and Minerva. And win. Get them out of here. End this nightmare life. I always looked up to you, and never understood why you wished for me to lead when I was so ready to follow. Your raw power, skills, and tactics… I can find no fault with any of it. And so I entrust you with this._

_I don't care how it's done. Just win. And live._

_I will not… dig one more grave. Not one more._

_I have never thrown Orlandu, and he seems to protest and almost fight me off, but I make sure he makes it back into the fight by arcing him into safety._

_But of course I throw quite a sizable thing straight up, and so the recoil pushes me easily past the point of no-return…_

_And as I plummet to the inky blackness that is this alternate dimension, I can only think if there's something else I could do._

_Some spell I could cast before falling too far from the battleground. If I could create one more perch, would I be able to reach back myself…_

_But nothing comes to me, and suddenly I hope that I haven't played things out wrong. I wonder if I could have done things differently. Could I have thought faster, reacted faster, or come up with a better response?_

_With no options left to play out, and only regrets and darkness around me… I fall._

* * *

><p>"Brother. We're here. Wake up."<p>

I don't wake with a start, as I usually do when I come out of my nightmares.

I just wake normally. Placidly. And with the lingering feel of dropping into the strange unknown.

That one… had felt more… personal.

A more personal nightmare. That's not so good.

Still…

I blink the sleep from my eyes. "Good morning, Alma."

"It's afternoon, silly." She chides. "We've rode all the way home."

Home…

Horrible dreams and familiar stone walls.

Back to my own fundamentals. Nothing's changed. Not like I'd wanted.

Ovelia. Oh…

Ovelia…

I close my eyes and wipe the crust of sleep from them.

I mustn't make Alma worry. She's all I have, again, and she worries too much over me.

I haven't really talked to her about it, but then there's nothing really to say.

The problem was all very simple. I wasn't a prince.

Armor still on, I disembark and help Alma from the carriage like a gentlemen.

Sir Guinevere's last parting lesson can take responsibility for my armored state.

Sir Guinevere's solution to heartache, it seemed, had been exactly the same as her solution to everything else.

Exercise unto the point of exhaustion, rather violent sparring, and finally a cold waterfall.

I will say that it worked very well for taking my mind off of things, and I'd passed out as soon as hitting the carriage seat.

Together, I and Alma thank the driver. We pat the horses in thanks for a safe trip and walk up to the high stone walls that represent the Bevolue branch's residence.

I step up to the familiar cobblestone floor of my family's grounds. The stone archway, so old and vine adorned as it is, seems to signal to me that my distant life at the monastery is over.

I'm home.

These grounds are one of the larger holdings of the Bevolue's. A little odd, considering that we were actually one of the smaller branches of the family. Ultimately the expansive cobblestone properties and high, sturdy, castle were marks of just how capable my father and brothers had proved in the arts of war. We are not a family that has made their name upon great stewardship of property. We are a clan of warriors and generals. Father was a great fighter. Zalbag is a great military leader. Dycedarg is a great higher-order strategist, even being relied on most closely by Duke Larg. People tell me that I am promising, but if I am so skilled it is only enough that I may glimpse the true distance between me and my blood.

I am the least of my brothers.

But still a Bevolue…

A Loyal sword-arm of the Crown…

"Ovelia…" I moan under my breath. It comes back to her. It always does, at the merest opportunity of a tangent. "How could I ever be her husband when I was raised to be her loyal subservient?"

"Quite effortlessly, I suppose." My sister pipes up beside me. "You'd have the perfect husbandly disposition."

I chuckle weakly at my sister's jest, trailing off only at her placid expression. "Are… Are you sincere, sister?"

Alma shrugs and looks away.

…wow.

"Did you love her?" Alma asks suddenly.

I'm not sure why… maybe it's just that I know her so well, but I'm not terribly surprised by Alma's sudden question.

She does like to fret over me.

I just stare at her and roll the question around in my head.

"No." I answer slowly. "But I think… I was getting there." I admit. "I _wanted _to love her." I say at last. "It seemed like… such a brilliant idea. I mean," I started, "I had already sent a letter to who I thought were her parents. I could find no flaw with our match and I was resolved that she was the one. I was already thinking… it's foolish… about kids and our house, and watching the sunset together. It seemed so possible, it was as if I could touch it, and yet it was so very wonderful that it seemed like a pure fairytale…" I hold my head, as if catching myself. "That was it. I felt as if I could hold that lofty and cliché dream right in my arms, if only I could hold Ovelia, and at the time I wanted that most desperately. You know, it's funny." I mutter to Alma. "I didn't even know I was romantic. Am I? Despite it all I still don't think I quite am." I decide. "But I think it's inevitable to have a time in life where we must fall in love, and watch the sun set, and have children, and a house, and all that. And… I just wanted it to be with someone like her. It would have made it all… so much more wonderful. So… no. I don't really feel as if I've lost my first love." I explain. "I lost a really exceptional idea."

"Brother." Alma sighs, before grabbing my face and pinching me painfully. "Don't be a wordy idiot."

Ow.

Alma, ow.

"You fell in love and you got your heart broken." She explains to me, before finally releasing my cheeks.

And she hugs me before I can deny it. "I'm sorry it didn't work out, brother." She consoles. "I liked her too. I thought you two made a cute couple."

Words won't come to me. I just silently hug her back.

"I'm sorry for slapping you." She apologized when we broke the hug at length. "When you said that you'd kissed her, I assumed that your nice guy disposition had at last broken down under the force of your boyish lusts." Alma admitted. "I thought Ovelia was crying because you'd forced her down and plied your wicked male intentions upon her resisting lips."

...What?

I stare at Alma, horrified.

She shuffled uncomfortably under my horrified scrutiny. "In light of this I will admit," she said at length, "to having read one or two too many torrential romance novels."

One or two, huh.

Numbly, I try to shake off the entire discussion and walk on.

Alma… really...

"Brother, look out!" Alma warns.

Too late.

My inward self-pity and my outward bafflement have distracted me too much, and as a result I have collided with a smaller and quite unobtrusive form.

"Oh. I'm sorry!" I apologize. "I wasn't paying attention."

I reach down and try to help the figure up.

A… monk?

A small form, bundled in a brown traveler's cloak and traditional monk robe. Wool, I think. Rather functional.

The hood's still up, and the figure clutches their chest. I must have startled them.

I note that the shadow it casts fully obscures the face. Which is unnatural. Clearly a passive spell is at play.

The sleeves of the robe also extend past the hands, so that even those are obscured.

My attempt to make amends were interrupted as another, larger cloaked figure lodged themselves between me and my victim.

This one's hood is up as well, and they moved rather smoothly.

Odd. How odd.

_Traveler's cloaks. Familiar sights, especially in the rain or heavy sun. Easy to overlook. Easy to conceal one's identity, body type, and minor movements. Passive spells, simple enough to cast, and otherwise easy to buy, can ensure obscuration of the face in shadow. Raw popularity of full cloaks for traveling lends its greatest advantage. Hiding a needle amongst needles remains ruthlessly effective._

_The greatest stereotypical disguise. Flawed only in its overuse._

I frown. "Excuse me." I apologize even as I begin to gauge this person. "I didn't mean any harm."

Silence greets me, and nothing else. There is no movement to acknowledge or deny me. There is no hesitation or shuffling. And slowly, the one before me seems to give off the impression of an enforced barricade.

Utterly immobile.

It's… suspicious right?

And combining a hooded cloak with the traditional monk's garb. It's as if you're begging people to ignore you, with such fervor that… it's actually a bit of an attention-grabber.

It's obviously suspicious.

It's super suspicious. So much that you feel like they can't be suspicious people, because it would all be too blatant.

But still…

"Excuse me." I repeat again. "Please let me see your face once."

I am about to reach for the taller figure's hood, when a hand snaps up. Her left hand – for she is a woman by the shape of her hand – grasps my right in a very firm grip, and on instinct I pull back.

I am wearing my 'brother' now, who (which?) is a knight sword. Slow and heavy. And I'm left handed.

So instead of grasping for it, I switch my footing and push back in to snap a strike at the cloaked woman.

And of all the defensive measures that I was prepared to construct an offence around, I was met with one that I least of all expected.

The defense of a clean, white envelope held before my fist.

As I freeze, note the particular wax seal upon the envelope, and pull back peacefully with the letter now in my possession, I am struck with the amusing thought that I have observed the pen being mightier that the sword.

Or the fist, I suppose.

I break the red wax seal, and observe the contents of the envelope.

It says… ah… monk training? A master, I assume the larger one, and an apprentice.

Some suspicion remains, but the wax seal I find at the bottom makes it all meaningless. The Lionsguard's crest stares up at me, majestic in its raw history and significance.

I know that upon higher, more esoteric and less practical levels, monks tend to train in various forms of abstinence.

Oaths of silence, fasts, years of blindness, and such.

If they're from the elite royal defense group, Lionsguard, then it's quite understandable. So this was such a case…

It seemed they were under an oath of silence, and obscurity. It's… social starvation? Is that their objective?

_The world turns and spins through this infinite cosmos. With or without us, it turns. To learn true humility, one must grasp the true scope of that flow. To read it or be told, is rather ineffective. To observe that flow, one must remove themselves from it and feel it pass them by._

_A lesson of humility to a degree that is meaningless to learn for battle._

_A poignant lesson to learn for everything before and after the battle._

Well… very well.

I am an in-training Bevolue. This is a matter of the Lionsguard. There is nothing here to discuss.

If they are miscreants, I will allow them to start taking apart my home and flesh before I will even allow myself to move against them.

Such is the awkward thing called 'loyalty'.

I hand the letter over to Alma, who 'ooh's and 'ahh's at it, and I bow.

"I apologize, Master Monk." I say. This is a bit embarrassing.

"Have a nice stay." I say with a smile.

I'd like to stay and chat. I really respect higher level monks. Especially the ones devoted to the more esoteric, and less combat-orientated arts. They seem to have a very deep and clean way of life.

But well, this switch-up is all a bit embarrassing. So I'll smile and retreat for now.

I expect I'll see them around, anyways.

The meetings continue a little later on our path, as a familiar pair of siblings run over to greet us.

Delita, always familiar in his greeting, punches my arm lightly. "Hey you. Did you ace your training again?"

"I learned a lot." I answer. "And I learned that I still have a long way to go."

Sir Guinevere was quite amazing.

"Come on." Delita smiled. "You got the new skill, right?"

I nod.

"That's Ramza for you." He smiled. "Your bags?"

"We left them with the coachman." Alma explained. "The stables are closer to our rooms, if you take the service entrance."

It's just tradition to go through the main entrance on return.

"That makes sense." Delita approved. "I'll grab them for you later."

Delita… was a servant.

He was my friend.

And a servant.

It was strange when he did things for me, even after all our years together. It was uneven, and strangely distancing, and I didn't like it.

I don't think Delita liked it either, really. But he wanted to do it, with some earnestness, even though he didn't like it. And he liked to pretend that he liked it.

I've never fully sorted out why, even after these years.

He's a complicated person.

Teta… she's a good girl. As if to make up for her brother's complication, she's always been really simply just a good girl. Usually pretty quiet and unassuming as well, except when she got excited over something with Alma.

But then I think all girls get chatty when they get excited over something with Alma.

And if Teta had complication to her, then standing next to the jumble of friendly contradictions that was Delita they had always gone unnoticed.

She hugs me and Alma.

"I'm glad that you returned safely." Teta said. "There have been terrible rumors about. And I missed you."

Alma assured her we were quite fine.

"Did you see the monks just now?" Teta asked. It was rhetorical of course. The monks and us had only just parted ways. In fact, I distantly wondered if they were out of earshot yet. I hoped they were. "They came just this morning," Teta continued, "and have been keeping to themselves very quietly since."

"Yes, we saw." Alma agreed. "Oaths of social exclusion. Isn't that strange? I couldn't do it." Alma assured.

"You really couldn't." I agree.

"Oh shut up, brother."

Teta smiled at our familiar antics. "We're supposed to leave them alone, but they're guests, and from the Lionsguard." Teta explained. "So it's all strange, and you don't know how to treat them at all."

"Best just stay out of their way." Delita nodded. "For those types, it's easier to offend than to please. We saw you get into it with them Ramza, but I kept myself and Teta out of your way."

So he saw…

"We're sorry." Teta apologized.

"It's fine." I assure immediately. If Teta gets quiet and sad, she'll be like that all day. And that's no good. "Listen to Delita." I encourage. "He's clever."

"We should spar again some time Ramza." Delita said. "You can show me your new skill, and I can show you a trick or two I picked up while you were gone. After you've settled in." He assured.

"Yes. That sounds good." I agree.

Alma clapped her hands together. "And then a picnic!" She decided.

"Oh. Let's go prepare some sandwiches!" Teta suggested.

"Of course!" Alma agreed, before running off with Teta.

And just like that, it appears we're going to have a picnic.

Funny how Delita and my agreements are presupposed as long as our sisters suggest something…

Well, it's true though.

Delita watches them run off in shared amusement with me, and then sweeps his view across the rest of the courtyard. He found no one. At this time of day, there was rarely a commotion. "Ramza." He says at last. "Listen to me."

I nod, affirming his change of pace. He did that, sometimes.

" Dycedarg is back from the court." Delita explained. "He's been preoccupied with meetings ever since, but I've been getting a few more questions than usual from the other servants concerning your capacity."

I understand what he places between the lines there.

"I received no mail at the monastery though." I recall. "And if brother wanted to inquire anything about me, Delita," I say, "then he could more easily just ask directly."

"He could, certainly." Delita admitted, switching to a thoughtful pose of holding his chin. "I don't know why he wouldn't."

…

Home sweet home.

Where I understand nothing even though I keep trying.

"Zalbag is returning from the garrisons as well." Delita continued. "He'll be handing off overseeing organization of the troops to Commander Zeff tomorrow. The day after he'll be here."

"Then we'll all be together again." I muse.

"Yes." Delita nodded. "People are gathering here. I can't imagine why."

"Yes." I nod.

In that case…

Delita hurried into his next point. "In that light, the arrival of those awfully-quiet monks this morning suddenly seems…" Delita trailed off.

He doesn't want to say it aloud.

"You're right." I admit. "But there's nothing for it. One cannot suspect the Lionsguard without cause. To begin with, reaction is the only polite course. It is unfavorable, but blissfully simple as well." I explain. "And besides, it's like Teta said. They're guests."

Delita shrugged it off in that way of his. "Hah. Only the truly powerful could say something like that. It's times like this that I envy you Ramza."

"Or perhaps it is saying such things which forges strong people?" I offer.

Delita fake-cringed. "Ugh. Philosophy. Now there's the one thing I didn't miss while you were away. I'll go move your things and meet you up to spar."

It's not like I don't worry about the monks. Of course I worry. Worrying is my major redeeming feature. But there's really nothing to be done when even investigation is improper. I'm thinking about how to take on the bigger monk if it comes down to it, not whether I can confirm whether I will have to take on the bigger monk.

I would decide to stay close to Alma, but honestly I do that usually. I'll probably go watch her cut up bread and sandwich ingredients soon.

"Oh, yes." I say suddenly. "Hey Delita."

"Yeah?" He asks, stopped right before he'd left.

"I fell in love while away." I admit.

My friend since childhood blinked rapidly. "…Really? You?"

"Yes."

"Weird." He says immediately.

"I know." I admit.

"Well congratulations though." He smiles.

"She turned me down in the end. Sort of."

"Ah," Delita's smile dropped, "well… that sucks."

"Yes." I nod.

"So what was it like?"

"I was really happy, and then very confused, and then I just felt depressed and inadequate."

Delita cringed. "Is it true that it's better to have loved and lost, and all that?"

"…Objectively, on the balance, I really don't think so." I respond after some thought. "But I feel that I have to say it was worth it, because the first part was something precious that I wouldn't let go of even if I died."

"Huh…" Delita mused. "Well… Want to talk about it?"

"No. I was just mentioning as a point of interest."

"Oh, thank god." He said in relief. "Well, want a beer?"

"No thanks."

"Want to stick to picnics and beating each other up?"

"I'll check in with the girls, and then clear the sparring area by the lake."

* * *

><p>AN: I will disclose here that for the purposes of this story, there are job classes and traditional status. Anyone with training can function as a knight, monk, or theif, but that is all together different from being knighted by the king, or living as a monk would, or from using theft as a living. Job classes take lessons from traditional roles, and the higher a person would want to go in the monk job class, the more it would be necessary for them to learn of the more esoteric and less purely combat orientated lessons of actual monks.

I have nothing else to say other than it is perfectly acceptable in Ivalace for teenagers to have alcohol. Ramza simply doesn't care for the beverage.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: I have just one thing to tell you all:

Blahblah blah, blah blah

* * *

><p>Chapter 7<p>

Dycedarg wanted to have dinner with me. He's the acting head of house now, so there's nothing I could do about it.

And it's not that I mind meeting with him. He's my brother. Only… I had entertained thoughts of resting up today, having just come home, and meeting either of my brothers was never restful.

"Hello Ramza." He greeted. "Sit."

Dycedarg takes his usual position at one head of the table, and I attempt to take one at the side, so that we may actually talk, but he shakes his head to stop me.

"Now, now, brother. You are almost a man now, and a Holy Knight as well. Sit at the other head of the table," he entreated, "and let us talk as men."

I reluctantly agreed – it was strange to be treated so… well by Dycedarg – and upon seating myself I was struck by the realization that conversation would be no trouble at all.

Our castle was just… eerily quiet like that. Gone were the days of the hustle and bustle of entertaining father's old war buddies.

Now people only came here on the rare case of business, and when they did it was quiet business.

I found I missed the older days.

"Ramza."Dycedarg began. "I expect that you conducted yourself well while away."

"Yes, Brother." I agree.

"It seems a waste to send you to the Academy." Dycedarg mused. "And yet it must be so. Being a Beoulve requires more that power. You must now focus your attention on leadership and political savy. Soon you will go to the Academy not for the teachers there, but for the student environment."

"…Brother." I say. "The food will get cold."

Cheese, bread, wine, and fat foul. It has been a long time since I have partaken of such a hearty dinner.

But my priority, embarrassingly, is to change the subject.

Hello. Welcome back. Here's what you must do next. Don't shame the family.

Such is the perpetual song.

And I never bemoaned it. I was proud, really I was, to help support the noble Beoulve family.

Not just anyone could have a meal like this at their beck and call. Masses of people make do on bread and ale alone for months. And here I was, with so much more. Duty, reciprocity, fidelity… I understood these things.

But deep in the mountains, on that grassy plain and in that dilapidated monastery I had called home for one brief month… it had been so quiet. My ears had grown unused to the song.

"Hold, Ramza." Dycedarg says with a raised hand. "Talk first. It has been so long. Let us not touch our meals until our minds are content."

"Yes, Brother."

… If duty could be performed at one's convenience, it wouldn't be called 'duty'.

"Father is not doing well, Ramza." Dycedarg tells me, hands together before his chin contemplatively. "His condition has deteriorated in your absence."

"Oh." My heart dropped. "And I had wanted to see him…"

Father…

"It's quite impossible." Dycedarg tells me. "He is under strict orders to rest."

"Oh." I repeat.

"And that brings me to my other point, Ramza. We all hope that father recovers soon. All of Ivalace hopes as much. But we must make preperations to the contrary, as matter of course. This will also allow father to rest more easily."

I nod solemnly.

"With the reports of your teacher, Sir Guinevere, I was struck by a sudden thought of us three brothers. Zalbag, who is coming home soon, has proven himself to be a most competent military leader and tactician. I myself have met with some meaningful success in politics and strategy. And you, our dear youngest brother," Dycedarg smiled in a strange manner, "seem to bear the potential of becoming the next generation's Thundergod Cid in your adulthood. Amongst us specialized three, it seems to me that all our father's talents can be found. If we work closely, brother, then we may yet do him justice." And here he smiles in a satisfied manner, I think because he has delivered his speech with aplomb to meet his expectation. "The shadow cast by a man so great as he, is far too expansive for one of us to handle alone." Dycedarg continues. "It's embarrassing to say, but I can't help but feel only human. Wouldn't you say?"

I lean into my plushy chair back and sigh quietly through my nose. The posture's off but I don't think… this is that kind of dinner anymore. It seems almost familiar now.

It seems almost familial now.

"The expectations have… been rather unreasonable." I admit. "Sir Guinevere spoke of cleaving through catapults and castle walls. She spoke as if I could become… some great and terrible thing. She wished for the former, but if I strayed too far to the latter, she seemed ready to hunt me down."

Dycedarg barked a brief laugh. "Yes. That's right. That … a pact?"

I nod slowly. I don't really see the point, exactly.

We've always been of the same house. Isn't it all the same?

"Then, under this pact of brotherhood," Dycedarg said slowly, "have you anything to share with me? Somethng I can help with?"

Briefly, I consider the fell stone I've stashed away. "No." I say, shaking my head. "Nothing."

Dycedarg pauses, his smile cracking. "I had heard of a commotion at your monastery. Reports are hardly to be believed, and I don't. Sir Guivevere, while an excellent knight, is a wandering one. A rogue. Without a lord to speak for her, I can't trust her out of hand. Is what she says true, brother? About an evil, dangerous stone?"

"I was only there to see the aftermath." I evaded. "It was the scene of a horrific battle."

"You've nothing else to say?" My brother's smile was tight now. "Nothing at all?"

"No. I'm sorry."

"I see. Pity. I can tell that you keep something from me, even still."

I'm sorry brother. But just as you feel towards Sir Guinevere, I cannot trust you out of hand. You are my blood, but…

Really, I hardly know you.

"Pity." He said, as if it were a sentence. Some great test I had failed. "Pity indeed. Come, Ramza, let us eat."

I nod in relief, and do so.

The fowl tastes off. I wonder if this is the taste of disappointment.

Maybe… I am too pessimistic.

Surely… my own brother…

But he and I have never spoke like this before. That stone is too… dangerous.

Too… ugh.

That goblet had been filled with Ale. It hit me like… like…

…Ugh.

_Spit it out!_

What?

_Spit it out!_

_Move! Get away! Through the window, now!_

"Pity."Dycedarg said. "You had so much promise. Too much, perhaps.'Great and terrible'? If only, Ramza." My brother sighed. "If only you really did have it in you to be both."

No.

I spit out the food in my mouth.

I kick back, toppling the chair, and roll to a stand.

Or, try to. I tumble and fall, the power leaving me.

Ugh. I can't… even get up.

"Millitary power… even Holy power… is just like any other." He tells me as he walks towards me, outline blurred in my vision now. "It can be applied well, and poorly. It can be made irrelevant, with judicious planning." He shrugged. "Did you think that merchant was really carrying such a ware on a whim? He was my transportation. All that he carried were mine."

Brother… no…

"That really was my best try to end this with talk, Brother. I applaud your staunch resistance. Of course, I could have brought you to me, if I'd time." He tells me as he leans down towards my face. "A year, a month or two. I would have managed it in the same way as Zalbag, tying in to your sense of duty and justice, and the 'greater good'. But the world doesn't wait for us. Events are moving, opportunity knocks, and I must respond."

"It… is evil." I moan out.

"I don't very much care."

* * *

><p>I come to in the darkness. Our is a cackling to my left.<p>

"You've done it now, Beoulve! You've done it now!"

Mad Dog for 'biting the hand that fed him'.

"The proletariat show their true colors! You see! I was right! And now, we're all going to rot down here together! Equality at last!"

I drag myself to my knees, shaking my head. The drug is gone. "How long?" I ask.

"Three days since your own blood threw you in here, Beoulve." Richter replied. "Tell me, when blood means so little to you, why does it stratify us?"

I don't know.

I don't….

I sit heavily, and hold my head. "My own brother…"

A small hand rests lightly on my shoulder.

It's the little monk! The little monk, and the Master monk… they're here. The Master has his own cage, and the apprentice shares mine. "Even you two?" I ask, bewildered.

What would brother want with the Lionsguard? How would he even capture them? Brother was also an accomplished Holy Knight, but I the pure commotion of two high level forces clashing would have been prohibitive for his dark doings…

"They came for you." Mad Dog said, speaking on their behalf. Even now, it seemed they would envelop themselves in silence. "Even to break you out, I'd wager. Odd, that. But you never can tell what Monks are thinking. They have their own justice. Or something. But it was all rendered moot. A trap lay in wait, and bravely as the Master Monk fought, he seemed crippled once the apprentice was taken in."

"Did you nurse me back to health?" I ask of the apprentice.

The apprentice nods.

"Thank you." I say. "I don't suppose you could bend these bars?" I ask the senior monk.

To this, the monk shook his head, and gestured toward the ceiling of my cell.

The ceiling holds a steel net, which in turn supports a large amount of heavy rocks. At the first sound of twisted metal, I suppose I and the apprentice will be done for.

Then, there must be someone to trigger it.

Could we win over the guards? But we can't even see them. I presume they're beyond the door.

"It's all too clever, Beoulve." Mad Dog said. "Your brother's one devious bastard. And he's been prepared to cage strong ones... for a long, long time."

"I see."

* * *

><p>The passage of time seems both slower and faster, here, where there is no blessed sun to mark the hours.<p>

Even Mad Dog has lost energy for his ire. Now, we talk of little things. "Anyone waiting for you out there, Beoulve?"

"No." I answer. "At least, I hope not."

"Sounds complicated."

"It's really not." I assure. "She was… born to love someone better than I. And that's it."

"Stratification?"

"Yes." I nod.

"Hmph."

I consider her, and here in the pitch black she seems to shine even brighter in my memory.

I suppose I am a _little _romantic. "If I knew it would all come to this," I saw wryly,"I would have kissed her more. Until she was sick of it, and scorned me forever as a scoundrel and a effect. She'd find someone more fitting, and never burden herself with me or my troubles again. Different path."

"The scenic route?"

"Hah!" I bark in laughter. "Never speak of her in that way again." I then say seriously.

"I understand. I've got a bird too. Wish I didn't." Mad Dog tells me. "She'll be so sad about now. But… I want to see her, one more time."

"Just close your eyes." I offer. "It's what I do."

There is a panting at my side, that I observe briefly, and it is the only warning I receive before I am accosted most ferociously.

Shamefully, I cannot muster a defence in the face of this onslaught. She is too soft. Too smooth. All…

…silk.

An eternity later, pulling back only for air, my assailant seems briefly satisfied with her ruthless pillaging of my lips. "Three." She breathes out. "I love you too."

* * *

><p>AN: Well. Internet's down, and I was doing it from home and uploading at the library. As such, I just used memory for all my stuff. Again.

Unfortunately, a lot of people actually know how to spell these names properly, a fact which boggles my mind, as the game itself is old as sin, and now half of my reviews are typo corrections. Well, thanks, I guess.

And to all those who don't like the story because of pacing/typos? Blah to you all. Go write something better. And then link it to me. Because I ran out of good thigns to read, again. Hence the writing.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Yes. I updated it.

You probably all forgot the entire context, but even so I'm not going to do a recap episode.

* * *

><p>Chapter 8<p>

Ovelia. My angel. My hope.

No, it couldn't be. I dismissed it as a factor of the fell fever that held me. A joyful self deception of an addled mind.

Even so.

"You should not be here." I told her weakly.

"I could say the same for you." She replied wanly. "Do you remember the night we met? In the monastery? Alma called you our hero. Had you sleep with us, to protect us, to put us at ease enough to rest." She said softly. "How our positions have changed."

Cool kips met my fevered brow then. "Rest Ramza, It is my turn to look after you. Leave it all to me."

"What a pretty dream you are." I muttered. "But that's how it always was. We had nothing more than a few days together. Just a drop in the pond. Yet, I could already see myself living out my days with you. So pretty was that alure. More than anything, I loved you for the thought of you. The dream. The everyday hope."

"Hush, Ramza." Ovelia told me with a wavering voice. "You'll make a girl cry. I felt the very same. That's why I just had to see you. I don't care about the crown. I don't even know the first thing about the crown. I knew you a month, but it was infinitely more than I know the crown. I know you, I want you, I need you, I… I love you very much."

She kissed me deeply then. "Four." She said sweetly. "And hark, beloved, I am not without recourse." She gestured to our accompanying cell. "I have ensnared quite a promising member of the Lionsguard in my flight. I convinced her of my desperation, and we fled the carriage bound for the capital."

"With her neck." The robed figure grumbled. What I once thought as a devout and silent monk lowered her hood to display a high cheeked nobility. Her bond flowing hair was matched in its beauty only by the cold severity of her knitted brow. "Upon threats of suicide, I accompanied this cursed errand."

"Don't say it like that Agrias." Ovelia scolded.

"It is the truth, your highness!" Agrias insisted. "God is punishing us for walking from the path of royalty and devout service. We have broken from what is proper, and this is our karmic lot. Caught up in some mad struggle between brothers!"

I laughed loudly.

"So it is a dream for certain!" I proclaimed in amusement. "I had been almost fooled by the sweetness of your lips." I chided Ovelia.

She blushed.

"But I know well this dream-person." I looked to Agrias as I said this. "Although I tend to forget her, as with all dreams. Hello, My Sheild."

The lionsguard member stiffened. "W-What did you just call me?"

"Sheild. You are designated shield." I reminded gently.

Agrias looked stricken, taking a half-step backwards.

"The sword. Where is the sword?" I muttered absently.

"I've no sword!" Agrias exclaimed. "We had to discard it for the sake of these disguises!"

"No sword? Always a sword." If not Orlandou, then I or Agrias herself could shoulder the role. In all cases, one needed a sword. Above all, there must be a decisive role to attack. "Forget what I said. You be sword instead." I judged. I was too incapacitated to be good for anything, probably. "Can you break these bars?"

"With what?" She hissed. "I tell you, boy, I am unarmed!"

"Try to punch it out. Find the weakest looking one and put all your weight in." I ordered absently.

My ailment made everything seem… languid. Unhurried.

A loud and meaty 'thwak' met my ears in response, immediately followed by a string of strained half-curses.

She was always too proper to curse like a soldier.

"I… I broke something in my hand." Agrias judged with a pained expression.

"I see. Welded steel. And not so lightly tempered." I sighed.

"Agrais!" Ovelia gasped in shock. "You're not a _real _monk… are you?"

"A… A few ranks." Agrias ground out. "All knights… receive a brief apprenticeship with a mid-level monk. Barely enough to earn a single belt."

"Then what are you doing throwing your weight at a steel bar?" Ovelia asked in exasperation.

"He-He told me. Your boy did!"

"He is poisoned. He is not with all his facilities!" Ovelia argued. "Do not take him so gravely, Agrias! We must use our minds to escape, not our untrained fists!"

"I know. I just…" Agrias looked briefly lost. "I don't know why…"

"Agrias, here." I held out my hand. "Hand." I gestured.

Quickly, Agrias put her own injured fist through the bars and into my grasp.

A brief application of 'Chakra' and all was well.

Both women looked at me in befuddlement.

"Ramza… are _you _a monk?" Ovelia asked in bewilderment.

I could only give Ovelia a silly look, for I had no idea myself, and so I dragged her down into a languid kiss in lieu of a response.

Ovelia stiffened in surprise and a little protest, but she soon relaxed into our lover's display with a little moan. Scarlet, she pulled herself back after what seemed like a great deal of happy times.

"Oh… f-five." She looked away briefly, blushing, to seek some self control. "I… might like you like this, a little bit, Ramza. But don't you do that again."

"I'm quite enjoying myself. I don't usually have dreams like this. Mine are usually filled with blood and sacrifice." I admitted. "Very rarely, I have good ones such as this. There are friends, allies, and deep bonds."

"It's not a dream, Ramza." Ovelia huffed. "You must take it easy, but do try to sort yourself out. I am beginning to wonder if Agrias is such a hopeful prospect for our escape after all." She mused.

"If it were no dream, it would be a nightmare." I laughed.

"What do you mean, Ramza?" Ovelia asked me gently.

"If you were really here, and I was really here, both in this dungeon cell, and mine beloved brother had put us here, then it is a war." I judged. "That's why."

"Eh?" Ovelia, Agrias, and even Mad Dog muttered this kind of expression and shared a sentiment of surprise.

"Yes." I said sleepily. "Mine brother, he poisoned me. He said that opportunity was afoot, and it was most incredible. He had no time to turn me to his questionable methods. Then, it would be inferred by this hazy mind of mine, that it was you he spoke of. He threw me here to bring you here. He threw you here, not because you tried to save me, but because he knew your identities all along. He was not fooled a second. He simply, honestly, found the princess of his kingdom on his doorstep and called it an 'opportunity' that was juicy enough to walk the political razor-edged path of Fratricide. Then it must be a war he's after. One behind closed doors, or one across the open plains, but either way there would be a great deal of violence."

"Are you saying that I… I am the reason you are in such a state, Ramza?"

"Of course." I replied haphazardly. "Who am I? But a bastard. Hardly worth a bullet, much less a vial of nectar from the ghostly willows."

Was it ghostly willow poison? Maybe. Probably.

And I didn't know how I knew that. I only knew that I knew it.

Sometimes, I get these… flashes of knowledge, or inspiration, or even martial techniques.

And I have no idea where they come from.

And that's when I'm fully awake.

So it's not all that surprising while I'm in a dream. In fact It's perfectly normal.

Ovelia slumped then. "Yes… I suppose so. I just thought… no, don't pay it a mind. I do understand if… it's like this. I was sent to grow up in monasteries because of this. The children of royalty are often in danger throughout their lives, and their youths especially. You know that, don't you, Ramza? That's why we're so often sent away to some remote place to hide, until we are need to do our duty as an heir, or old enough that we are not so easily explained away as an accidental death."

She smiled sadly at me.

"Don't fear, Ramza. I'll… I'll talk to your brother. We'll come to an arrangement for your safety."

I laughed again. "You talk to my brother? Now that really would be a nightmare."

"Good thing this is all a dream." Ovelia said with a pained expression.

"Yes." I agreed.

I considered pulling her into one more kiss, then, but in my drowsy state I did not make it that far. The sandman took me, then, which was strange, for I was already asleep was I not?

If anything, I suppose, I fell into a deeper slumber.

Yes, I fell incredibly deeply into sleep.

* * *

><p><em>I wasn't quite sure where I was. <em>

_Captured, obviously. _

_But aside from that, I knew very little. It was disorientating._

_I heard voices._

_"You must swear to me, Dycedarg, in all solemnity. Ramza will be safe, beyond all harm, and I shall be allowed to affirm it with my own eyes periodically. I need to hear it."_

_"On my honour, your majesty."_

_"Your honour, is it? Can't you swear on anything a little more concrete than that?"_

_"Hahaha, you wound me, princess."_

_"I'll rebel instantly if you kill him." Ovelia warned. "I expect to see him regularly, and well." _

_"Highness, for all I care, you are welcome to affirm his health with your own body, on a regular basis, as long as you remain obedient to my plans. I'll arrange it all." _

_"What plans?" I interrupted. _

_"Ramza!" Ovelia gasped. "You're awake! Or… your eyes are closed. Ramza, what's wrong?" _

_My eyes are… exceedingly heavy. I can force them open only for the briefest glimpse of the situation. My body is also incredibly sluggish. _

_Meilandoul, esuna. No, she's not here. _

_No, this affliction is not one to be solved on the battlefield. I require a doctor, and time. _

_I have neither._

_"Brother!" Dycedarg greeted. I knew his voice anywhere. "Are you playing at yet being asleep? Or are you too ashamed to open your eyes? I am quite shocked to learn just how profoundly you have ensnared the heart of her highness. Quite a feat. Quite bold! Certainly, exceedingly useful."_

_"Don't worry Ramza." Ovelia assured stiffly. "Everything will be fine. You'll be safe and I… I will also be fine. This is not the end. Don't do anything reckless, ok?"_

_"Indeed, Ramza. I hope that we can come to understand each other, in time. After all, we are brothers. That same great blood flows through our veins."_

_"What are your plans, Dycedarg?" I insisted. "Kill our father, I know that much, and what?" I asked. "Eldest son, and primary heir, to one of the great houses said to be a pillar of this nation. A power and authority that is already spanning across thousands of men. What more can a man like you need? At what point would it be enough?"_

_"The world, brother. I am after it all. But, that is not such a bad thing. Someone, somewhere, has to be in charge. I find myself well suited to the task. In fact, it's as if the heavens are asking me to take the role. Look how they place even royalty at my mercy, so easily! This nation is on the eves of a great war, Ramza. An entire generation now lives that don't even know what to do with the peace we have now won. Worse, we can barely pay those that bled for that peace. This is a period of dangerous transition, my brother. Both a steady hand and an unshakable will are required to guide us to the next year with a minimal fuss. It's not so bad, is it?"_

_I sat, groggily. That sounded like the eve of the war of the lions. But that was far in the past. _

_No, it was the present. _

_No, I had no idea. _

_I didn't only not know where exactly I was. I didn't know when I was either. _

_I was completely lost._

_I also didn't know if I was asleep or awake. _

_But. _

_I knew one thing._

_"It is incredibly bad." I judged my brother. "It is nothing but pure evil. You are not seeking to help anyone. You are only thinking about using them, and hurting them. You want to make them weak, so you can climb over their collapsed bodies."_

_"How can you say all this, my dear brother?"_

_"It is exactly what you have done to me and Ovelia." I judged. _

_"Some things are necessary."_

_"I can read between the lines." I argued. "Your ambition is too large. Delita started poor. He wanted to be rich. Therefore he may have wanted a kingship that was unquestionable, but you who were already born with everything that normal boys dream of and still want more… have no concept of satisfaction. Until the whole world is under your heel, you don't think you'll stop. But I know it. You won't stop even if you had the whole world. You already fell into the grasp of those rocks." _

_"Delita? What would that raggy boy have to do with any… No. You… just what do you know about those stones?" Dycedarg asked. "I knew you were hiding something! Tell me! The merchant you encountered within that monastary was my man! He was transporting weapons, and armour, and above all else that stone! What happened? What did you do with it?"_

_Did I have it? _

_No. Yes._

_Rather, I had no idea what he was talking about._

_"Pick one." I offered. "A Zodiac Brave, or the Princess."_

_"Ramza…" Ovelia interjected._

_"Shush!" My brother scolded. _

_He licked his lips._

_"So you have it."_

_"I have it." _

_I had no idea if I had it._

_The last thing I can recall is fighting Altima at the bottom of the Airship graveyard, my friends all dead, the crystals of their passage from the land of the living littering the battlefield._

_I still had no idea how I got here, or where, or even when I was._

_So it wasn't a lie._

_I might very well have the stone he's talking about._

_"You're not in a position to negotiate, brother." Dycedarg answered._

_"None the less, pick one. It's an easy choice." I argue. "A princess that will do as you say… that is surely something far more priceless than a rock." _

_"It's no mere rock…" Dycedarg ground out._

_"It's a sin. It's a poison ten times greater than whatever you gave me. It is a path of self destruction. Put it aside and… and perhaps we can work together, after all. I don't mind if you become king, brother. I never cared a damn who became king. If you can really keep your word to transition Ivalice in a safe manner towards a peaceful future, then we can stay up all night as we consider underhanded means to achieve that."_

_This is my attempt at a plea of reason. _

_"Just… forget the stone."_

_"I said, I'll take both. The princess and the Zodiac Brave." Dycedarg hissed. "Give it to me. It belongs to me."_

_"No. You belong to it."_

_This man is completely lost. He is in a mad haze and lust. _

_What he desires is a power he can place his hands on directly. The Zodiac's ability to enhance a person, and even demonise them, is too sweet a whisper in his ear. _

_And those things desire only two things. War and blood. _

_But mostly blood. _

_So much blood._

_And I will not stand for it._

_"Agrias." I growled out. "Punch it out!"_

_"I told you, boy, I can't!"_

_"AGRIAS!" I howled._

_"S-Sir!"_

_"Now!" I demanded. I didn't have time._

_I leapt even as agrias dashed towards me. _

_She threw her weight behind the blow as she launched a left hook cleanly between the bars that separated her cell from mine, and into the only bar she could reach on my side. _

_At the same time, I struck that same bar from a posture mid-air with a spinning kick with all the chi in my body gathered to that point._

_With remarkable abruptness, I felt the bar give way. _

_I landed and immediately dove through the one-bar gap in my cage at that point. _

_Along the way, I grasped the loose prison bar in both hands. _

_"Brother!" I howled as I fell on Dycedarg._

_"Damn!" He cried. "When did you get so strong?! Is it the stone's power?!"_

_ I struck down, treating the long and heavy bar in my hands as both a pole and as a Knight Sword. It had both weight and reach. It was also one of the most unwieldy things I've ever held. _

_But certainly it would hit hard. _

_I clashed with Dycedarg's hastily erected short sword with a heavy clang and spray of sparks. _

_I was ailed by some fluid… possibly ghostly willow sap. Yet my will was strong, and my weapon was very heavy. I pushed my brother back._

_"Hypocrite!" He hissed._

_"I didn't use the stone, brother." I objected. "You can get this strong without! You don't need it!"_

_"What would you know!" He cried. "You, who have inherited our father's godly way with the sword! Even kings ask me about my bastard little brother!"_

_With a surge of strength from the larger man, I was pushed back. _

_Without momentum and initiative, this large bar in my hands was nothing more than a very slow inconvenience. _

_I discarded it, and took notice of the weapons around us._

_"These are the wares my merchant was transporting that night at the monastary." Dycedarg admitted. "I have searched exhaustedly for the stone amongst them. Where is it, Ramza? Tell me!"_

_"You don't need it!" I objected, grasping a Knight Sword that had been propped against one wall._

_"I do!" My brother objected, as he too grasped a Knight Sword._

_We met in another deafening clash. _

_Now I was to be pushed back. _

_"Look how strong you are already. Look how respected and beloved! Alma looked up to you! I looked up to you! What more do you want?!"_

_"Everything. Everything!"_

_With a shove upon our interlocked blades, I was pushed until I felt my back hit the bars of the cell I had once been trapped in. _

_"Betrayed our father. Betrayed me. Betrayed Alma. Betrayed your country. And you can't even give up on a questionable power like that! Who's going to trust you now?!" I demanded. _

_"Ramza!" Ovelia cried out in worry, seemingly finding her voice. _

_This briefly distracted both I and my brother, but I recovered first. _

_I dropped one hand from my swodrgrip, and shoved it firmly into my brother's gut. _

_This knocked the wind out of him, and as he bent around my fist, I then followed it up with a sharp head-butt. My brother reeled back in pain, but was quick to regain his senses. He created distance quickly as he scrambled away from me with a guarded posture. _

_My pursuit of my retreating opponent was a little delayed. My body was not working optimally, and in my brief relief at pushing my opponent away I lost a little of that adrenaline edge that was keeping me up. However, that was a weak excuse. _

_I then pushed my poisoned body on with all my willpower. I was determined to end this fight before my enemy could come up with some desperate unpleasantness. I remembered all I had lost in similar situations. I tightened my grasp and bent down as I rushed forwards to grasp at the handle of the Knight Sword my brother had dropped in his pain. _

_I put forth the secretive oriental strength taught by those of the ninja class into my arms and determined to dual-wield these Knight Swords until the fight's conclusion. _

_I made to fall on my brother in a whirling dervish of heavy steel._

_But I was too late. _

_He had already foreseen the flow of the battle, and his defeat. He had already prepared his desperate unpleasantness._

_"Hold, brother." He commanded._

_I held._

_I did not move a muscle. _

_"Drop them." He said easily._

_I let the dual Knight Swords fall to the cobblestone floor with a clatter._

_I had no choice._

_He had a thin dagger placed against the smooth neck of Ovelia Atkascha._

_It is just never easy._

* * *

><p>AN: Ramza's trippy adventures with being poisoned continue.

Shout out to... basically everyone who's reading this. I wrote it in the odd chance that people remember this story exists. In other words, it's all thanks to you, who's actually reading right now. Good job.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Yo. I was so surprised to get more than 5 reviews I was like 'Whaaat. But it's been like a year.' Also, re-read the last chapter a little if you can't figure out what's happening in this one.

* * *

><p>Chapter 9<p>

Ovelia… my angel… my hope.

_This was a Difficult situation._

_Ovelia was my queen. Or, princes now._

_I still don't understand that._

_I still have problems pushing through the haze around my consciousness. Had I not monk training of the highest sort, this poison would have rendered me half sensed at most._

Look how he presses the knife to her gentle skin! I can't bear it!

It just… isn't right. That's not right, brother!

She's innocent in all of this!

Whatever this is!

And I… I was supposed to be her hero…

What am I doing…

Do something!

Anything!

_No. Focus._

_I have to keep my head straight. Forget these stray and odd thoughts._

_Ovelia._

_In the past I was to protect the Royal family at all costs. _

_That was a very long time ago. Such things as titles mattered little to me now. _

_Queen, bishop, saint, knight... these titles meant nothing to me, because they proved nothing. _

_I had met some of the best of men and women, and some of the worst of men and women, and all around their titles seemed to have no relationship to whom was which._

_Just as my brother. He was more sworn to protect her highness than I, yet he pushed that blade and I saw a trickle of blood on it. _

_"Well, brother?!" Dycedarg asked demandingly. "The stone's location!"_

Fine, have it!

I don't even know what it is!

_No! I couldn't do that!_

_I was now quickly approaching the dilemma I had posed. Ovelia or the stone._

_Were I to trade my life for that of an innocent girl such as her, 'twould be barter, but the stone..._

_I could not abide the stone's existence. I wasn't heartless towards the princess, but I just could not…_

_There are still possibilities to strike mine brother down. The swords I had discarded are not too far from me, and there are many more skills at my disposal than swordplay. _

_Sneaky things. Clever things. Ninja arts. Spells I could mutter beneath my breath. _

_Even if I assault mine brother, Ovelia may yet survive. _

_With my luck, I doubt it._

_I'm sorry. It's awful. _

_Teta, again, flashed through my mind._

_I'm sorry Teta. I would surrender were it just me, I swear it._

_But I couldn't capitulate to my brother's demands for the stone, even if I did not at the moment know its exact location…_

_It may well be on my person. Or in a place I could easily guess._

_Worse, because I didn't know where I had put it, I couldn't say whether any false location I gave would be false indeed, or the truth slipping from the corner of my mind._

_"Don't try my patience, brother." Dycedarg insisted. "She can serve me as well dead as alive!"_

_"That's a bluff." I attempt to argue. "She could easily be the next reigning monarch!" _

_"Do you think so little of me?" Dycedarg asked in amusement. "Do you think my future prospects were hung on something so loose as the cooperation of a love stricken juvenile girl? Hear a little story of mine, Ramza. The princess of our great country killed by mine brother. A tragedy."_

_ This again. It was nonsense.  
><em>

_"Yes. The little brother I had adored sought that which lay beyond his station. In his greedy lust, befriended the sow in our dungeons. A radical by the moniker Mad Dog."_

_Brother!_

_"And I, with soulful reluctance, struck down my own flesh. What do you think about this story?"_

_"Fanciful." I shot back._

_"Oh, very." My brother agreed. "A wonderful fairytale for the masses. But you must understand, brother. A prince represents a promise of strength. A princess represents a promise of purity. The former is more oft given responsibilities, but the later is more adored. You have to use your pieces judiciously. With her death, the entire nation will think of nobility as noble. The line between the peasants and the gentry will be redrawn fresh. And I will be at the head of that movement."_

_"But you don't believe in it!" I proclaimed in disdain. _

_"Because I don't believe in it, I don't feel bad for exploiting it." Was Dycedarg's cool response._

_I understood what he was aiming for. I could read between the lines. He could do it. _

_He could be a hero. Not just that, he could be a champion to the noblesse even while he was a hero to the masses._

_He would both become a man of the times, and charge the times with violent energy to suit himself._

_She really did serve him as well dead or alive._

_But I just can't… I just…_

_"If you kill her," I muttered in warning, "I'll have nothing to stop me from killing you."_

_My brother smiled a wide, toothy smile. Upon his face I had never seen such an honest smile as that. _

_Wordlessly, he pulled the blade fully. In a smooth motion, he'd taken my dilemma from me. _

No. Ovelia!

_What? No, I had to focus. I had to move._

_Thoughts flashed through my head in a fraction of a second's hesitation._

_Another choice. First aid or defeating the enemy. The sequence of this was important, for in truth it was almost impossible to accomplish both._

_Kill Dycedarg first, and then see if I could do something for Ovelia._

Not her, oh please, oh God, I beseech!

_A voice. No, not quite. A mere thought._

_In fact it was less than a thought, and more. It was an emotion that was ferocious and pure. A child like panic of the highest order. _

_The poison. It must be the liquid befuddling me._

I love her!

_Focus! _

_I never loved her! She's just Alma's friend, to me. And a queen, I suppose._

_I have my priorities! If I rush to the girl's side, I'd die even if I could save her life. Then she'd be alone with my brother and she would be no better off with such a fate!_

_Though it condemned her to only the slimmest chance of survival, I had to put her aside for twenty, or even thirty seconds. I could kill Dycedarg in thirty, I'm sure! And he had to die! If he could grasp the Lucavi in this state, I don't even know what would happen to Ivalace! _

_I didn't want to bury Ovelia. I really didn't want to bury any more people! _

_But if I have to pick between digging one more grave and digging graves for our whole nation, I knew my path!_

_Teta! I'm sorry! It's for the world!_

Ovelia… my silk, my dream, my hope!

_These feelings… I don't… _

"Ovelia!" I screamed. I awoke.

* * *

><p>Everything was senseless. I had been dreaming. I know that for a fact. And words were exchanged. And my dream self… another self… fought and spoke as if he were real. He moved my body. He had otherworldly skills.<p>

It made no sense.

My dreams might somehow be real.

That made no sense either.

But I did not care.

I immediately threw myself to Ovelia's side. In the moment, I saw nothing else. I honestly forgot that my brother, Mad Dog, and Agrias even existed.

I only saw that crimson blood gushing forth.

I had to stop it.

Yet as I scrambled towards Ovelia's body, I felt something pierce my side.

Dagger, sword, bullet, I wasn't too certain.

I still did not care.

I layered skills upon Ovelia.

I did not know these skills, but I executed every form of revitalization possible, in quick succession. Shout, Chakra, and I even started to chant Raise 3.

I spied along the near wall, another of the items from the merchant's wares. A bag of orangely red down.

Yes, phoenix feathers. I know how to apply them to an otherwise fatal neck wound. I don't know how I do, but I do know that I do. I thank my dream self.

On hands and knees still, from treating Ovelia, I tried to crawl towards it. I reached out to the phoenix down as if to grasp at a miracle.

Something pinned me in place. I stared in brief confusion at the protruding knife hilt. My left hand was pinned to the ground.

Only then, I looked up at my glowering elder brother. He was a powerful knight, whatever he said. He put a dagger three inches through my palm and into solid stone floor.

"Well?" My brother asked.

That's right. Dream self was having a conversation with brother.

Dream self was holding his own both with swords and conversation against the brother I looked up to so much. Dream self was amazing. His only flaw was that he didn't understand that Ovelia came first. I could not be the husband or lover she deserved. I, an aspiring knight, already failed to keep an innocent girl from harm. It might be my pessimism talking again, but I had failed a lot.

But I could do as much as put her first, damn it.

_No!_

Yes!

"I gave the stone to _her_." I said with no hesitation.

My brother took a half step backwards. "The stone? You gave it to the princess?"

I shook my head, no. My hand and side were still bleeding, but half-dreaming as I was I didn't feel it too well. Ovelia was… not in a very critical state right now. She might not need the phoenix down, after all the skills I had used so far. Right. I… didn't know what I was doing. I wasn't a Hero. I was just 13. I was just doing everything I could in a panic.

Ovelia coughed out my name as she rolled weakly on the floor. I think she'd be ok.

"No? Then you gave it to Alma, after all?" Dycedarg asked pointedly. I don't know where he was getting all these knives. I belatedly realized that I'd been struck earlier in my side, and that it hurt. And my hand that was pinned to the ground hurt as well, as a matter of fact.

"Tell me, Ramza." My brother insisted. "I can easily gut the girl as many times as it takes."

I did hesitate. I looked at Ovelia, then.

She weakly shook her head at me. 'Don't' I believe she whispered.

_The stone is everything. It carries enough sinister power… _

_Damn it, it's not even human. It's also not concerned with human things!_

_Whatever Dycedarg could do, at least he'd need people to rule!_

_The Lucavi would be fine ruling over a giant cinder for a planet!_

_There are priorities! Balances to be made! Evil, committed for Good's sake! A regrettable sacrifice! Don't be naive!_

Shut up. Shut up, me! I do have my damn priorities!

Before I thought of justice and war! Before I held a sword!

I was standing between my sister and rabid dogs! I was shielding her from scorn and loneliness! I promised her that I'd always be there for her!

That's what I am! I protect my friends with all at my disposal!

That came first! If I let Ovelia die, I won't even know who I am anymore!

_You mustn't!_

But I met my brother's eyes. "Not Alma." I admitted. "I gave it to Mother."

My brother's expression snapped into a sharp frown. "Your mother's dead… oh." He gasped. "I see. I can believe that. You gave it… to _her. _That _is _a place unlikely to be uncovered."

Yes, I hid it inside mother's urn. Amongst her ashes.

"Ovelia." I insisted.

"Yes." My brother nodded. "I'll allow her to live, although you'll still have to die. I keep my word on these kinds of things, you know. As long as she is obedient, she can live. I promise that." He spoke these words as if they were his last farewell to me, his brother, and he grasped the first sword available to him… one of the two my dream self had discarded… and he placed it before my face. The proclamation was clear.

I could understand that, but I paled.

Ovelia was somewhat like Alma.

Both knew what it was like to be obedient.

Neither let that get in their way overmuch.

Even now, although we were both lying on the stone floor in various states of debilitation, I could see her face scrunch up in fury and pain.

She was far from an obedient mood.

She'd take death rather than heed my brother's words right now.

So I did the first thing that entered my mind. I turned my head slightly and bit down on the tip of that blade.

"What?!" My brother's expression twisted into a mixture of surprise and pure disdain.

Having bought this little time, I brought my one unpinned hand around to the blade and grasped it recklessly.

I had no leverage, on my hands and knees as I was. I'm sure my brother thought I was being needlessly desperate to cling to life.

But I was not clinging to life. I was fighting my best. Through my teeth that were still clenched around the sword edge I declared it:

"Life… is… short..."

My brother is no fool. He stepped back immediately. He yanked away his sword as if I were a tiger.

"That's not possible!" He declared shakily. "You were gone only one month!"

Dycedarg's eyes flickered downwards, to Ovelia's near form.

But I had grasped the dagger pinning one hand with the other. I yanked it free of the stone. I was free. I was armed. I threw the dagger with precision and speed as I made my home between my brother and Ovelia, in a crouch.

Yes, I had done it. This was where I belonged.

I… I had to keep certain things safe. Ovelia was more than a girl to me. She was my fond hope. More than that, she was a dear friend.

If I had to choose between a true friend and a liar blood-relation…

Well, I'd rather not choose.

But I'd take my friend!

My brother had deflected my thrown blade, and stared at me in a rictus of disbelief. "Art thou mad?" he asked in amazement. "Can you move this much with such injury and affliction of poison? Are you really driven this far? For what, brother? There's nothing for you to hope for!" He yelled at me. "There's no way out! You've no future with a princess, you bastard son! You've no accolades awaiting you if you save a princess either! You've not the pedigree to be the people's hero! A story is all in the telling, brother, and I've all the storytellers as my conspirators! The judges and the lords! Their royal scribes and messengers! You'll be feared and disdained instead, as fratricidal! I wouldn't be surprised if, in killing me, you really had to resort to a life on the run!" Dycedarg proclaimed seriously.

He was being honest. I knew he was right.

Who would believe this tale were I to repeat it?

With my only witnesses being a radicalist prisoner, a juvenile princess that had run away, and a young knight foolish enough to help that princess run away?

"You'll have no woman to keep you warm then, Ramza. In the dead of winter, with no land or money, what will you do?" Dycedarg asked me.

_He's attempting to sap your spirit. He understands that willpower alone is what lets you stand now. _

_He's an intelligent fighter, whatever else can be said about him._

"My justice." I proclaimed, pulling free the last armerment in reach. The dagger in my side came loose and more blood from that wound began to slide down my side.

I could use Chakra now, but I feel if I lower my attentiveness that much, even for a moment, my brother will run me through.

Instead I set this bloody dagger in an upright grip in my shaky left hand. I grit my teeth and will my hold to stay true.

"It is my justice that will keep me warm."

Dycedarg frowned, raising his sword above his head. Several feet now separated us. I knew what was coming. I could feel the stirring in the air. "Your justice, what is it?" He asked.

"To help or to hurt others, as good and evil. Brother, you are also a Holy Knight that had to determine your own justice. What is the justice that led you to this life?"

"Ironic. To help or harm myself." Dycedarg explained calmly. "In a way, we could not be more compatible. My little brother."

"At the same time," I muttered, "we could not be farther apart."

My vision was becoming hazy. It would have to be now.

_Two open wounds. You'll be dead soon._

You think I care, dream self? You think I planned to live forever? I may have no reason to live 'til the morning!

That's what I'm fighting for right now!

I took a deep breath.

"Life! Is! Short!" I… and my brother echoed in unision, as if we had decided on it beforehand.

This is where I succeed or fail!

I stared mine brother in the eyes. I had always respected him, but I respected him even more now. I respected him as a great evil that needed to die. "Bury!"

With an incensed expression, Dycedarg met my gaze. "Bury!" he roared.

This was my limit. I would use the Holy Swordskill taught to me by Sir Guinevere.

I knew little of the art in detail, 'cept that it required a sword.

And indeed, I didn't have a sword…

But if I treat the dagger as a shorter shortsword, would that be enough?

I also had no idea.

I had no idea about a lot of things.

But I knew I had to do it.

"Stasis Sword!"

Several small crystals of holy energy miraculously formed for me. They circled the blade edge of my dagger.

Of course, Dycedarg was the same. Several large crystals of holy energy surrounded his blade. He looked at me with an expression of hatred then. "You were only gone a month." He spat.

I was short of breath, and had nothing to say in response.

All I could convey was one last retort. I stabbed forwards with all of my strength, launching the Stasis crystals at my enemy.

With a mighty slash, my brother sent his attack to meet mine.

In the small enclosed space of the dungeon, with a handful of witnesses, these desperate energies clashed blindingly.

I did not avert my eyes from the incandescent light. I awaited the verdict of who's justice was to prevail.

And then, as the light faded, I collapsed in pain.

My legs had given out.

But I kept my eyes forwards.

"Brother." I horsely whispered.

"Ram…za…" He wheezed. Crystals protruded from his chest. Small, dagger like crystals. A mysterious dust was scattered about.

_His attack was shattered. _

"Damn… was my justice… not enough…"

I didn't say anything.

"If… only… I had that stone… that power…"

"No brother." I said with certainty. "If only… really, if only my dear brother had never been tainted by it."

"Hah… hah, hah… remember me… that way… Ramza…"

I… could have tried to crawl over there and use 'Shout'. I could have tried to chant 'Raise 3'. I also could have tried to grasp the phoenix down and use the Chemist's ability of item packaging and throwing across distances.

There were a lot of ways, but I, on purpose, did nothing.

I merely watched the breath fade from the corpse that had been Dycedarg Bevolue. I strangely felt no regret or shame in this. My only overwhelming regret was due to things coming to this point in the first place.

And only then, after the battle's tension left my body, did I collapse immediately without even being able to muster the strength to heal myself.

I heard Ovelia coughing as she chanted my name desperately. I heard other cries… Mad Dog… My Shield, Agrias…

But they progressively sounded farther away.

As I lost consciousness, I had absolutely no concerns at all.

I had tried my best. I was at peace.

.

* * *

><p>.<p>

A/N: There we go people. I'll be meeting up with my alpha reader/muse tomorrow in order to discuss where the story should go from here. Either onto another arc, and if so which kind of arc, or immediately into the climax, or even using this as the climax and going into the epilogue that has to tie up all the loose ends.

My alpha reader/muse, who by the way has always been my alpha reader/muse for all the stories on this site, is coming in to town to meet up with me and also to see about some special treatment for his condition. He's not doing too well, so I do hope everyone can send a little karmic feeling. I've always been quiet about his contribution, because he's strangely bashful about it. However, I have to make it clear at some point.

For a Beta reader, as long as the story has good grammar, you can clearly say he's done a great job. But an Alpha reader who's job is to break the writer's block or come up with ideas, you the reader won't know anything about how he's doing. This time let's all be equally appreciative of the alpha reader/muse. It's also thanks to him that this time's writer's block of 'how to make it poetic' was broken through. Just by hanging out and talking about the problem to someone else, I got a new perspective on it. When he said 'That sounds great. Do that.' I also gain confidence even in bold ideas.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Switching PoV forthis chapter.

* * *

><p>Chapter 10<p>

_Fools. _

_The airship crashes around me. It is utterly destroyed in the last desperate attack of one man. _

_To be fair, I have rarely in my long existence come across a being with so much raw power at their disposal. Even my disciples would be hard met to go blow-for-blow against this grey haired fellow. _

_But he was old. With age, came sentimentality as well as weakness of the bone. _

_And whether it was his tactics or his fighting spirit, he was simply not fit to be my opponent._

_I cancelled out his last strike with my All-Ultima. This is what caused the airship to fall utterly apart. I entered free-fall, along with the corpses of my enemies – a familiar scene to mine eyes. The old fool, the last of my standing enemies died within that free-fall without me even touching him. He had truly placed his everything into that blow, for what it was worth. And whether he died of combat wounds and exhaustion, a heart attack from the strain, or simple old age, I didn't know. Nor did I care._

_I am unworried. I will praise these maggots for making me ascend to my battle form, but even though this skeletal body lacks the elegant wings I was accustomed to, I still controlled all of time and space herein. I was at no threat at all of falling to any damage._

_All their efforts were so futile. _

_That swords girl took my blows with a fortitude that could make stone weep. The magician girl, whom I though little of at first, showed an ability to fend me off with a knightsword of all things. _

_And that cleric. That little girl._

_Of all those humans, I knew her name alone… Alma. _

_My host._

_Yes. What an impetuous girl. _

_I was surprised when she robed herself in 'Magic Barrier' and took my All-Ultima head on._

_But when the dust settled, I even felt a chill as she managed to learn and use that 'All-Ultima' directly back at me._

_I can only assume with the twisted laws of reality in this place, and her time fused with me… somehow, a strange coincidence of events was born from all of that, and she stole my technique. _

_Of course I killed her immediately. I simply couldn't have All-Ultima running around under another's command. _

_I put a hole through her chest with my skeletal fist. As her blood sank into the dilapidated wood, those foolish humans lost all reason. _

_It was really pitiful. This is why they are lesser creatures. _

_I will never go back to that 'humanity'._

_But… one thing bothers me even now. As these freefalling corpses pass the point of no return, and I see the faint glimmer of the crystal essence of souls left behind… _

_I see it. _

_That one nagging loose end._

_Face down in the inky black solidity that passed for this dimension's 'floor' lay an armored squire that lacked all forms of specialized techniques or authorities. _

_During battle, he appeared to hold only mundane martial and spiritual techniques. He used weapons and spells that anyone could learn. _

_Yet when I compare my enemies before and after he had left their side, it was akin to comparing a tiger to a cat. _

_A Tiger is still a cat. But there was a world of difference between the two, all the same._

_I wondered what this mysterious boy's name was. He's Alma's brother. From what I recall from her memories… yes. Ramza. Ramza Bevolue._

_The boy was a slightly above average soldier. But at the same time he was far more than a soldier. I recognized this in him easily because I had been the same, long, long ago. He was a leader of uncontestable morality. He could make sadness into hope. Weakness into strength. He could sow solidarity amongst the divergent. He could roar out against my pitch black darkness, and turn cowards into heroes. _

_A dangerous sort of man._

_And I didn't see a crystal._

_Therefore he was, barely, still alive._

_I couldn't place this feeling. He was all alone, on the brink of death, lying at the bottom of my own dimension. But I… stepped forwards on weary legs. _

_I raised a hand tentatively. I didn't feel as if I should approach any further. I received a foreboding feeling that could have easily been a phantom fear related to my thousand year imprisonment. _

_I had no reason for this. Although I did consider him a dangerous man, it was because his strength was directly proportional to the power of his allies. Now his allies were all dead. I had seen their crystals myself. They plummeted through this pitch blackness even now. _

_If I had to say what it was, it must have been an instinctual fear. _

_It was nonsense but… I would cast my strongest spell instead. The spell that so easily sowed havoc in his allies ranks. A spell at the apex of all black magic. One created by a saint-turned-demon, in order to fight the god that had forsaken her. A power bordering on the divine, and therefore thoroughly heretical. _

_I prepared All-Ultima just to finish off this worm who was practically at the reaper's doorstep._

_This slight delay was my mistake. _

_At that moment a small crystal crashed down upon that boy's head. Since it was the remains of one of his friends, having fallen an uncounted hundreds of miles, It was a rather incredible coincidence._

_But that crystal, a solidification of the feelings and lingering life energy left behind when a soul passed on…_

_That crystal imbued the entirety of its last offering onto the boy. It held nothing back. _

_And he, the mundane boy and leader of men, stirred in the dark._

_It was a strange coincidence. _

_It was almost like… _

_No. It wasn't quite on that level, for as a saint I had worked on that level myself – I knew of what it entailed. But still, I had the strangest inkling that it was almost like…_

_A miracle._

* * *

><p>That was not a dream, I remind myself as I open my eyes.<p>

I do not really 'dream'.

But I reminisce, sometimes. I recall things with such vividness it could have been a dream.

I sigh in weariness. It had been more than ten years now, since that fool had clashed blade and magic with my true power, and tore us both free of time and place.

Ten years since he had landed his spirit within his past self. Like a bad joke, or like a cosmic trickery, my fate mirrored that of my foe. As we clashed strength evenly, so we were blasted to this time and space evenly.

Of course I landed myself in the closest proximity of a past body, for this dimension.

In the original timeline, as of this calendar date, the one called 'Ajora' existed as a transient specter trapped in the dimension I had fondly called the 'Airship Graveyard'.

That dimension simply did not exist anymore. We had cracked it open. That place was now a space and a time that did not exist. Would not exist. Did not exist.

And so on.

So my time-traveled soul thankfully did not anchor itself there.

Where I landed was quite ironic.

His sister. My one time host was my host once more. The sweet torture.

So close to my foe and so far all at once.

My host slept beside him every night. I could control her body easily.

Her 'sleep-walking' episode was nothing but I, myself.

I could reach over and strangle him any night, with perfect ease, from age two to twelve.

But I knew it was futile.

Because of that boy I was trapped. Just as his ancestors had sealed me away in my personal dimension, the boy managed to tie my hands completely.

This time, it was not a physical limitation. It was also not a spiritual limitation.

Ah, but I was no less trapped.

It was strategic. I was in a state of constant checkmate.

These are the thoughts that run through my mind as I consider the bandaged and all but comatose body of Ramza Bevolue, in the dead of night, sitting on a stool at his bedside like a dutiful sister.

I wanted nothing more than to smother the pest to death, but I could not.

In a future time, I had not lost to that boy, but I had not won. I could not win. Now that I can look back at the event, it made perfect sense. It was simply impossible for me to win. I knew this very well.

That's because I had been just like him. I wasn't always a fell goddess of death and evil. I wasn't always a reckless power craving, self-serving despot of unimaginable power.

I used to be a fool.

When I was young and starry eyed, I had been Saint Ajora. A devout Pharist. A pristine example of morality and justice. A soldier, a leader of men, and a silly little girl trying to change the world.

And I did.

I changed the world.

People might think that the dark and evil powers of the world are dangerous. Demons and such. But that's an incomplete statement.

The bright and good powers of the world are equally dangerous. It's easily enough to topple governments and conquer kingdoms. I had done it.

No, Light was at least as destructive as Darkness.

Two halves of a coin. Light and darkness. Day and night.

I knew what I was. I was unrepentantly evil. I wanted to rule the world, because I could. I wanted a kingdom of blood, unfairness, and above all I wanted slovenly levels of my own self-amusement.

I was now exactly the kind of character that I used to smite regularly, and against all odds, back when I was a real saint.

And Ramza was the genuine article. He was a saint, if saints ever existed.

Saints were ones with 'miracles' at their disposal. At least two, was the general rule.

I had seen one for certain. Ramza had matched strength with me equally, in a world in which I may as well have been a god, against all conceivable odds. It was as if fate had wrapped around the foolish boy like an armour and a blade, both at once. He broke all the rules, and aquired knowledge and power beyond normal limits.

It was inconceivable. That's why it was a miracle.

In fact the more absurd an event, the more likely it was to take place.

The fool boy is weak as a babe, wounded and under the vestiges of a powerful poison, but I do not strike.

If I reached out now to strangle this boy he would wake instantly to battle readiness, or someone inconvenient – though I couldn't imagine who could possibly inconvenience one of such power as I – would miraculously walk in on us, or a star would fall from the sky and smite me.

Who knows? I only know that something will stop me. That is what a blessed life means. It's not to say I have no options of victory. I could knock aside one or two falling stars. But I would be fighting at most on even ground. Fallen saint against active saint.

This made me quite upset. I did not believe in equality anymore.

What's more, I could do little about my predicament.

It's been a handful of days since Ramza was found half-dead in the dungeons of Bevolue Keep. The princess has hardly left his side. I, or rather Alma, has been the same. As if it were some form of contest to see who could be more uncomfortable they sit on hard wooden stools on opposite sides of his bead and await his recovery.

Although I am briefly taking control of Alma during her sleep, it is but to stretch and contemplate.

The events of the past few days were not my doing. My stupid disciple Adrammelech was to blame for it all. Those worthless followers of mine just couldn't sit still.

I am as ageless as I am powerful. Honestly, nothing would be simpler than waiting for Ramza to grow old and die. I was free from my dimensional cage after thousands of years. I could wait fifty or so more. It was of very little consequence to me.

I could not defeat Ramza, but I knew how to win. When Ramza inevitably passed, I would dane on his grave and this world would be my plaything once more. It was all perfectly simple.

* * *

><p>AN: I'm going to go back and put all the dream sequences in itallics.

Also, it's Alpha reader's fault that we're entering the climax arc. By the way, he sends his thanks for the prayers and well wishes.

We're not quite at the point of no return, but barring a change of heart from that Alpha reader we will be going in for 5-9 more chapters towards the end of the story. No helping it. I had thought up to the end of the dream sequence fights completely before I started this story, but I have absalutely no ideas what comes after. Will have to brainstorm.

It's very rare for me to give an update schedule, but if nothing changes on that side you can expect the next one 1-2 weeks from now.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: We're back to Ramza PoV

I know Save the Queen isn't what Agrias came with. I found this out after I wrote this chapter. Let's say one way or another she owned one, and they picked it up at some point. It's not a big stretch since it's the usual princess guard sword. I also know Alma can't learn All-Ultima, only (Medium) Ultima but I express author's privileges to stretch things a little on that side as well.

I basically take a lot of liberties. I hope people can keep up and I don't get too confusing.

* * *

><p>Chapter 11<p>

_I awoke with every part of my body experiencing the phantom pain of the recently healed, and revived. _

_The abrupt nature of healing arts in the current age always had that uncomfortable effect. The pain lingered longer than the actual wound. _

_This familiar affliction was how I knew instantaneously that I was not dead. I was not in Heaven, and neither was I in Hell. _

_But I wasn't on earth either. _

_Lord Ramza, above thee! _

_My shield? _

_I pushed down on the inky black substance that somehow felt exactly like a floor, and rolled without any further deliberation. _

_This helped me a little as my world was enveloped in white magical energy. I was merely clipped by the outer blast radius but it still sent me reeling._

_That was no element of attack spell I had ever encountered. It was neither fire, ice, nor bolt. It seemed to be magic wrought from magic itself._

_No, wait. I did know it._

_Ultima? _

_All-Ulltima. _

_Right. Altima. _

_She was a fell beast, or monster, or angel, or saint. Whatever she chose to call herself, I was sure it was all a lie, but then her true nature eluded me. In truth, despite being branded a heretic by the church I still prayed dutifully. I asked forgiveness for my deeds. I placed tombstones above the meager graves I could afford our fallen allies. And I said their last rites as best I could. _

_I was actually quite religious. I had exactly the same amount of faith in God as I had ten or fifteen years ago._

_I just did not believe in the upper echelons of the current church. And I no longer believed in Ajora. _

_So it's nice that she dropped that guise of angelic wings. She dons bone armor and a giant frame. I couldn't be more at ease with her change to a disgusting visage._

_"So the battle continues." I muttered as I pushed my sore bones to stand. It was as much that lingering phantom pain as it was the damage from being clipped by All-Ultima. "Agrias, flank!"_

_"Who are you talking to, boy?" Came the raspy response. _

_She had a voice like the death cries of a thousand cicada. It was a grating and shill sound, completely unnatural._

_I stared at Altima. She was all bone now, but I knew it was her._

_I did a double take. I had misspoke. It was not my place to issue orders now. I had passed that mantle to Orlandeau. But I knew my role until I was issued other orders. I was a fighter that excelled on the front lines. The basics worked everywhere._

_"Agrias, I'm going in!" I warned. "Cover me!"_

_I charged. _

_Sir, your left!_

_A skeletal fist descended, and the rest of Altima followed. This was despite her not being anywhere close to me until the very moment. I barely managed to catch it by bracing my shoulder._

_Her teleport became faster. _

_But though she struck with the strength exceeding ten rampaging bulls, she struck with the finesse of that same stampede. Despite sliding back slightly, I did what I could to stand my ground and lock Altima in a close quarters grapple. _

_I wouldn't last long._

_I expect Agrias to take Altima's back as I hold her in place, but it does not come. _

_"Agrias?"_

_"As I said, boy." The demon I'm clashed with said once more. That bony mask showed no expression, but I got the odd sense that it expressed some form of… trepidation? "Who are you talking to?"_

_With a lurch I'm flung through the inky black darkness. The world is monochrome, so I can hardly say how far I'm thrown, or for what duration, but I roll as I land. I suffer only minimal damage._

_But I am not heartened. _

_I had collected my wits in the air, and I had a good view of the featureless battlefield at the bottom of the Airship Graveyard. I had not seen Agrias, nor any of my friends._

_"Please no."_

_As if on cue, the steel descends from the sky. It falls haphazardly and sinks into the inky blackness at my feet blade first. _

_Agrias' beloved blade, 'Save the Queen'. _

_I pray I can give to you my favorite sword skill. I always thought that you, a man more Bevolue and more knightly than I by tenfold, should have possessed the Holy Swordskills I was inadequate to use. And I entrust to you once more, and always, my sister blade. She who was reborn into justice with me. She would be happy. My sword and I were inelegant, and mannish. Stupid and crude. We were tough, and that was never enough. But you understood and put us to good use. I truly awoke to each day feeling that we fought the good fight. I… was very happy._

_ Agrias! **Damn it!**_

_Did you die?! _

_Do you speak to me as a spectre now? _

_I fell to my knees. That was how I had recovered from the fall, to perfect health. Somehow, she had given me her crystal in death. _

_Did another of my friends pass before me? _

_Did I fail her? Agrais, I'm sorry!_

_I receive no reply. _

_She's not there. Her time has expired. In truth her voice had been but a spectre. A phantom of life energy and experience. _

_I felt some of herself flow into me, but I knew the rest of her was gone forever. _

_I placed one had on the hilt of Save the Queen and looked up through the dark. _

_I saw the airships above, all cracked in half. I saw now that wood and debris were in the middle of free-fall. The strange physics of this dimension played as it desired to make the debris fall like petals in the wind. I thought I had run out of hot tears some weeks ago, but I sobbed once more from the depths of my heart._

_But these tears did not cloud my vision as one would believe. If anything, the hot self-loathing served as a blacksmith's flame. The iron will I had recalled from my Shield hammered out the kinks in me, and those liquid tears cooled the blade in my heart. In my grief I became sharper than ever. _

_In the instant Altima teleported behind me, I had already swung Agrias' sword. "Stasis Sword!" I cried. I lodged six crude holy crystals into Altima's chest, and then in a smooth swing slammed my blade into them like a hammer. _

_The damn beast actually groaned in surprise as it staggered backwards. _

_"How?" It asked. _

_I didn't care. _

_I just screamed. _

_Like a fool I ran directly at it. She teleported away. I could barely see her in the distance, and in the next moment the world was again white with All-Ultima. _

_I had no response. I was not good at range, and it seemed Altima figured that out. _

_I was tossed backwards in the magical blast._

_I had somehow clutched Save the Queen through it all, but I was battered and barely able to stand. _

_But I still screamed. I still struggled to my feet to give chase. I could not die until I had avenged. I had no complicated strategic thoughts in my head, and none could be made. _

_Altima teleported again. She floated overhead. She was just out of range of where I could cast Stasis Sword. It seemed she knew the skill quite well. I could hit her with 'throw' but on my life I would not let go of the blade especially entrusted to me with my friend's last words. _

_I knew All-Ultima was coming. I was determined to somehow bat it back with brute force if nothing else._

_But as I stared up a glimmer caught my eye. I neither dodged nor raised my guard as Altima pointed her hands at me for her spell. _

_As she would be interrupted by a blade falling upon the back of her head. It bounced off with little damage._

_The impact seemed to barely faze Altima through the skeletal armor but it was enough of a surprise to distract her. _

_I caught the blade Excalibur with one outstretched hand. It gleamed in the faint light that emanated from the fabric of this black world. _

_Orlandeau. You too. _

_"What's happening. What is this?" Altima rasped. "It's too much of a coincidence! Are you blessed by some divine protection? Did you – are you – it doesn't matter! You die! I should have killed you first!"_

_Excalibur made me light on my feet. It was so enchanted. _

_I had determined some time ago that All-Ultima was a supreme spell indeed, but it was not without characteristic. The blinding light hid the fact that it struck in a spherical radius just like any other spell. _

_I tore up my leg muscles and the inky earth as I dashed away. I ran towards another falling and glistening light. _

_Altima appeared in my path through her miraculous teleportation. I fell on her with both Knightswords without a care. I struck like a bear more than a man. I was still mad with grief and rage. I growled as I sought to cleave out that bone armor until I found blood underneath. _

_"I won't let you!" Altima cried. "Petty human!"_

_She struck me across the face. I fell back and dropped to a knee despite myself. But the low angle was enough for me. I threw Excalibur with the skills of the ninja class and clipped the shining object Altima had deigned to stand over protectively. It flew through the air like a little star and I dove not through Altima but to her side, and caught it. _

_I had to know who it was._

_I'm sorry._

_It was Orlandeau's crystal._

_I was not able to meet your expectations. Like a little squire boy, I let my superior down._

_It wasn't like that! I was never your damn superior! You were better than me in every way, and you knew it! _

_To the end, I never understood why you insisted that you not lead us._

_All my skills and all of my energy. Please take it. My last apology to you! My whole long life, for all its accolades and titles, seem as nothing before your honest sincerity. After I met you, you made me feel I had been old and stupid, from the point when I was ten years of age! My life was a joke! And it's very unfair of the old to ask this of the young but… Ramza! You must win!_

_I felt the healing energies of my friend, ally, and mentor passing flow through me. I was fully recovered, but no less in pain._

_I understood that it had been a full destruction. I judge that all of my friends…_

_That not even one…_

_That I alone stood against our foe. I alone was the last. _

_I alone had as my maximum hope… the future of standing amongst a hill of unmarked graves._

_Altima Cried out All-Ultima_

_I used Save the Queen and threw Orlandeau's Holy Explosion back at her. The crescent of holy energy met the indistinct destructive force and was not sufficient. _

_I grasped Save the Queen with both hands and struck again and again. I furiously struck with Holy Explosion until I had diced All-Ultima apart. _

_I dove forwards into that blast with a thrust. As I burst out of the magical light, I met Altima with my blade to her heart. _

_At least, such was my intention. But she was gone in an instant. _

_That was it. That was the real problem. Unless I could match that mobility we would not exist on the same battlefield. _

_Altima appeared behind me. I spun and slashed. I clashed 'Save the Queen' with her repeatedly. _

_A backflip helped me avoid a haymaker, and in transit I managed to rasp the hilt of the previously thrown 'Excalibur'. _

_With Excalibur's passive haste enchantment, I danced the dance of blades at twice the speed, but I could not land any decisive blows. _

_Meanwhile, every glancing strike rattled my bone structure fiercely. _

_At such a rate, I'd be dead soon. I was not sufficient to the task. _

_But I screamed and pressed on in my rage. _

_I had to win. For Orlandeau, and everyone else! I didn't care if I died in the process! I had been entrusted to win!_

_"Die!" Altima screamed. _

_"You first!" was my childish reply. _

_I spun around Altima's back as she struck with her body behind one blow. I was ready to land a back attack she could not riposte, but she was gone in an instant. _

_In her place, as pure coincidence, I catch sight of one more glimmer of both hope and forlorn sadness. _

_I even hesitate to grasp the falling crystal. I briefly wonder if I can handle the pain to my heart to hear one more fallen comrade. But it is an unworthy thought. I grasp my rage and vengeance, and drop Excalibur briefly to snatch at the crystal._

_I was a Shrine Knight. _

_Meliadoul._

_I was… a sister. A daughter. I was a woman of doctrine. Faith. But, it was a blind faith. I listened but did not hear. I brought judgement upon the people, but did not bring justice. I adhered to the church that had strayed from the path, lost without any moral compass. But I changed. You were the leader that did not tell me what to think, but taught me how instead. I was… more proud of myself than in all the rest of my life together. Ramza, I know these sword skills are helpless in the face of those you have received. If Agrias and Orlandeau came before me then there's no place for me. But I was the one who changed. I knew my sword was weak, so I grasped the staff. Please accept these arcane cantrips, my lord, and bring justice where I could not._

_Cantrips she called them._

_They were far and away beyond any cantrips! Black magic, white magic, and even that of time and space flowed into me._

_Meliadoul, you had no propensity for the staff, but you did as you thought best for the troupe. You were amongst the bravest of us all._

_Altima teleports to my side. Thanks to Meliadoul, I teleport away._

_The Time Mage foot-skill 'Teleport' had a distinct range. It could safely cover roughly the distance that one could normally traverse within a few seconds. Beyond the range one could normally cover, it had a progressively decreasing chance to go farther than its limits. At a microcosmic percentage chance it could, in theory, go anywhere. _

_I pushed beyond those limits without a thought. It would connect. I knew it in my heart. Meliandoul was guiding me, damnit!_

_For the first time I chase down the last crystal rather than meet it by coincidence. _

_By process of elimination, I knew whom it was. _

_On a plateau of wooden debris I found her. _

_And it breaks what is left of my heart._

_I had the proof before me that I had truly nothing left._

_I grasp the last crystal with tears in my eyes._

_I'm sorry I was so impetus. I know I ran off on my own too much. I know I got in the way. I didn't mean to. I… just wanted to help. And… I couldn't help it. I missed you. You're all I ever had, brother. And I did swear that I would always be there for you. I know that oath was long ago. You might have forgot._

_Alma, I never forgot for one second of one day._

_I… damnit… I swore I would always be there for you too!_

_I am so much a failure it is beyond all calculation, yet I live while my little sister has passed?_

_I can't take it!_

_I figured something out. I don't know how it happened. I was struck with it and somehow it just… clicked. I knew it. I know All-Ultima. I want you to have it, and think of me, and… and just… I loved you brother. I loved you more than I ever said. I loved you more than our other brothers, and our father, and even our departed mother. For you were there for me more than all of them combined. I just loved you so much._

_Alma! _

_ALMA!_

_…she's gone. Passed completely. _

_I turned on the world completely. I would not only kill Altima if it cost me my life, I would suicidally attack. I had literally nothing left to live for. _

_I turned and struck. Altima had the nasty habit of teleporting to behind my back. Therefore I struck behind myself in a circular slash. She teleported from this, too, but I followed her through the empty space of this dimension. We blinked in and out of matter as we danced amongst the blackness, regardless of space. When she launched All-Ultima I cast my own right back at her. The two ultimate spells clashed with a brilliance that seemed it might give light to this dark world on a permanent basis. _

_But I did not give much thought. I stood toe to toe with Altima in solitude. We were equal in every manner. She could no longer hit me for I was too fast. I could scarcely damage her for she was too tough. _

_But I held the weight of the lives on my back and in my blade. I screamed more and more, and felt my parameters increase accordingly. I pushed that blood pumping self-strengthening mantra beyond all previously established limits. _

_I had to be stronger, faster, and more furious. _

_She told me to stop. She screamed out "fool, if these godly spells continue to clash, we'll both be lost to the ether! You'll crack this world apart!"_

_It sounded perfect to mine tortured ears. I initiated more exchanges than I received. I hurled magical energy again and again. She had no tools at her disposal to stop All-Ultima, except her own._

_I forced the clash and exchange. I teleported above her and blasted her with her own spell once more. _

_It seemed to leave no severe wound, for she was truly demonic, but it did inflict damage. I kept the fight on, and I felt the world shake as we clashed titanically. _

_I began to see mysterious white cracks in that inky blackness, yet I just stepped over them without a thought. I didn't care. _

_I continued to scream. I continued to fight. _

_One last time we faced each other and cried out the name of that terrible magic. All-Ultima. And I felt the world give up around me. _

_Like an eggshell, there was a crack in the world too large and it just… gave up. The entire contents of that world were spilling out. _

_As the world ended and I fell out of time and place, I was happy. I thought that if nothing else, this would finally kill Altima. And to make the matter sure, I teleported to her back and lodged Save the Queen squarely through her ribs, and held tight. _

_One way or another, I would personally escort her to hell. If we fell directly there then all the better, but if we landed in some other place, some other time, I still cared little. The fight would continue, and I had nothing left in my hollowed soul other than the desire to destroy this abomination. I didn't mind if I had to spend one minute or one lifetime to kill her. I had no feeling of goodness in me anymore. My friends had always been the best of me in every sense of the world, and now they were gone. I had no justice, no faith, and no hope anymore. I was a hollow shell of anger and death. _

_I would hound this enemy through all of time and all of space if need be, and when I buried what little would remain of her body I would make my grave beside her and stand sentry over her in death itself._

_I was utterly determined._

* * *

><p>I awoke with a start.<p>

My entire body ached.

But I remembered. It wasn't a fevered dream. Those instincts at the back of my mind weren't mine after all. They were his. He was real. The dreams were real.

It was _all _real.

Agrias, Orlandeau, Mustadio, Meliadoul, Boco, Rapha, Marach, Beowulf, Reis, Cloud, Construct 8, Minerva, Alicia, Lavain, Ladd, everyone.

I remembered… everything.

"Oh… fool… brother. You're awake."

It's the middle of the night. I find myself in a soft bed. Ovelia is to my right; leaning off of a stool and onto my body in what I'm sure amounts to an uncomfortable position.

And to my left, my dear sister stares down at me in the moonlight.

* * *

><p>AN: The dream sequences are, of course, over as far as I can see. This is how we enter the climax arc. Some people were understandably wondering how it could possibly work, since it seems there is no building action to the climax, and there were many enemies that needed addressing. My Alpha reader thought the same kind of thing. Actually, the entire story is founded on the premise of this climax arc. The climax arc can begin the moment Ramza remembers the future.

No idea when the next update will be.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: This is a short chapter. This felt like a natural place to stop on a cliffhanger, and I need to post it so that I can move forwards with the next chapter.

Don't say 'you should just write more and combine it'. It doesn't work that way this time. After struggling with this story in the back of my mind for months, I realized that this is my quirk as an author kicking in again. This is necessary.

* * *

><p>Chapter 12<p>

I had a sinful dream. I dreamt that I was the belonging of a man.

As a strong and independent woman, it's not permissible.

I, Agrias Oaks, am a part of a symbol unyielding strength, the Lionsguard. But in my dream, I knelt to an illegitimate man. I gave him my sister sword at a moment's notice, symbol of my faith. I forged my body into a shield. It was my greatest gleeful joy to obey. I wanted to absorb all of his pain, and march three steps before him in my heavy armor. I wanted to indulge my endless lust for justice. I knew he would satisfy me well.

But to the wrong man, that's why it's sinful. I should be a tool of justice, but only so on the behalf of royalty, not some man on the run from the law.

It's that boy's fault. The one that bossed me around and saved the princess. On one hand, he was any warrior's ideal. On another, he was unnaturally so. He was more a monster than man, and fought too bravely. He sent a thrill through me. It pulled at something inside.

And it was sinful.

I was with the Lionsguard. Even now, at the behest of Her Highness Ovelia, I stand silent vigil with my back touching the boy's room. She is inside. She insists, almost madly, to stay at his side in his recovery. That's why I'm here, standing straight, and feeling no weariness from my constant vigil. I'm standing here on high alert constantly, through day and night with the briefest of sleep, and happy to do so. Because I protect Her Highness. It has nothing to do with the boy. I am of the Lionsguard.

I follow no others.

Right?

* * *

><p>I'm Ramza Bevolue, a novice Holy Knight. Not Ramza the traitor, or heretic, revolutionary, or renegade.<p>

I think.

And yet I can't deny it.

I look at Alma, my sister who is still alive and well.

And I said, quietly, "no…"

Her expression jerked to a stop. It was frozen. By the way, she had been smiling awkwardly.

Also by the way, Alma was someone who was permanently assured of everything.

She had never made that expression in two lifetimes.

Which put me in a bad position.

I, who was recovering from a poison and a deadly fight, was basically immobile.

That's the basic logic.

It's a stereotype. It's an estimation.

And the gap between that expectation and reality is the place dead men are born.

"Ovelia." I said weakly, turning to the girl I loved. "My sword?"

* * *

><p>My darling was finally awake.<p>

I wanted to hold him, and swear myself to him, and lavish every care upon him. Tis the least I could return, on the investment he'd made in loving me.

He had saved me so many times. My hero.

But he awoke with a strange feeling about him. He awoke, and the dead of night awoke with him. The electricity of afternoon saturated the air.

"My sword?" He asked of me.

I know of it. Tis his room I have kept sentry in these past days. I know of every detail. The beloved sword he was reborn into the light with was enshrined nearby. The simple 300g broadsword represented my darling's heart and soul. I have it here. I have had it keep me company while he was asleep.

I held it up uneasily. I hesitated for unknown reasons.

Alma as well, barely twitched her head left and right as if to warn me.

"Tis my brother. Let me hold it." Ramza said quietly.

...He's recovering. I'd better not.

"Ovelia." He warned sternly.

He'd never been stern with me before. Other people had, but in Ramza it had a different effect.

I quivered. I almost knelt.

I shoved the sword hilt into his grasp.

"Duck." He said.

I ducked until I was all the way under the bed. The hiss of steel rang through the air.


End file.
